


Apologize

by rh2036



Series: The Eighth Year [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Anxiety, Draco Malfoy Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Harry Potter Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Roommates, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2020-12-16 04:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 66,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21030350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rh2036/pseuds/rh2036
Summary: Draco Malfoy, forced to go back to Hogwarts for his eighth year after the war, is not sure he wants to change who he is. But with constant anxiety attacks, he isn’t sure that his current way of life is working out for him. Will rooming with Harry Potter help him make amends and realize his ability to be a good person?





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy opened his eyes slowly and tentatively as he did every morning, scared of the things he would see and the noises he would hear. But only silence greeted him, as it did every day this past summer. He still wasn’t used to it. Some days he woke up and reveled in the quiet, and some days it was more terrifying than the screams and laughter he had grown used to hearing over the past year. 

Normally he could afford to lounge in bed for a little while—well, all day really. There was nothing for him to do this summer and barely anyone to converse with once the lawyers stopped coming around. The first month of the summer was filled with back-and-forth. First, it was thought that the Malfoys were certainly going to Azkaban within a week after the Battle, and they were only placed on house arrest until the paperwork could be settled. At that time, Draco felt a small sense of satisfaction, and in a way, protection. The world was being righted again—justice could still be served. He was so unburdened by this realization that he didn’t even care if order being restored meant his end. 

The day of his rumored imprisonment, he wrote letters to his friends, and admittedly one to Potter asking him to free Narcissa, and put them on his neatly made bed so that whoever would deal with his possessions would find them easily. He worried they would never be delivered, but told himself that it was a temporary worry—every concern was. He didn’t plan to stay in Azkaban long—not in the way his father did, where he planned to either escape through dark magic or bribery—because he was going to sleep his life away in the cell. He was going to stop eating and drinking, and wait for the end.

Draco had come to terms with that and was almost looking forward to it. The Malfoys sat in the parlor, waiting to be taken away by the Ministry. Instead, the lawyers said that a certain someone convinced Kingsley Shacklebolt to hold a trial before their imprisonment. Until that time they were to be on house arrest. Because they did not commit as high crimes as other Death Eaters (their biggest offense was housing the Dark Lord), their trial was scheduled in a month’s time at the beginning of July. This was already bad news to Draco, who had finally come to terms with his death after facing it for nearly two years, but finding out Potter was cooperating the Minister on his behalf nearly sent him over the edge. 

It was legitimately difficult to remember that month, Draco was so ill. He couldn’t keep food down and he spent full days in bed, barely mustering the energy to walk to his bathroom. His father at first tried to comfort him and apologized endlessly for failing his son so greatly; then he got angry. He once tried to physically pull Draco out of bed, but the war had weakened him significantly, and even malnourished Draco could overpower him. That rare violent confrontation between Draco and his father did transform Lucius Malfoy back into a more recognizable version of himself—he even started doing business dealings again, and soon forgot about Draco. Good, Draco had thought. At least I can be of some use to this family.

His mother on the other hand—

“Dragon?” Draco snapped out of his memories and sat up in bed at the sound of his mother’s voice—tentative and worried as it always had been this summer. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“No, thank you Mother. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” He was embarrassed to admit that he still had problems eating at times. He hoped that part of it was just being in the Manor, trying to find somewhere to eat where he hadn’t been, but he also felt like he should be over that by now. The past was the past, and he was a Malfoy. Although, he wasn’t sure what being a Malfoy meant anymore. He often found himself wishing that his father had either defied the Dark Lord or was a successful Death Eater. Draco didn’t know how to interpret the fact that his father lay cowardly in between good and evil. 

Regardless of his location, Draco doubted that he would have been able to eat today. It was September 1st, and his trunk stared at him menacingly from the end of his bed. He put on a suit, washed his face in the adjoining bathroom with cold water himself, and then dragged his trunk down two flights of stairs to the main floor. 

The Manor house elf, Tilly, was busy making a breakfast Draco knew he would not eat. When Draco’s family returned home after the Battle of Hogwarts, Tilly was the only Manor house elf that had not ran away. The Dark Lord had enslaved the creatures, not Lucius, and so when their master died they were not magically bound to the Manor. He wasn’t sure why Tilly stayed behind when the others left, and he didn’t have nearly as much interaction with her as he did with Dobby. He wasn’t even sure his old house elf and playmate had survived after Aunt Bellatrix...and afterward...

Don’t think about that, he told himself sternly as his trunk thumped down the stairs one by one. 

“Can’t you do that any more gracefully?” His father drawled from the dining room table, face covered by The Daily Prophet.

“Well I can’t do magic now, can I?” Draco mumbled as he was finally able to drop the trunk. As part of his probation, he was required to wear a magic bracelet that blocked him from using magic until he graduated from Hogwarts. He was very irritated that he was not able to practice with his new wand for the entire summer. Not only would he return to school as a criminal, but also terrible at magic from disuse. 

“What did you say?” It seemed that now Lucius wanted to be a parent. However, where four years ago he would have made Draco apologize for his insolence, at least now he was sheepish enough to let it slide. “Come sit with your Mother and I so we can have breakfast as a family before you have to leave.”

Even Draco’s parents were traumatized enough that they no longer ate in the dining room. They purchased a small table for the three of them and put it right next to the kitchen. Draco sat down, being careful to not make a sound. He sat up straight, as a Malfoy should. 

“Please eat something, dear. It’s a long journey.” Draco had to make an effort after looking into Narcissa’s eyes across from him. He grabbed a plain piece of toast from the table and took a bite.

“Your mother and I wanted to make clear our expectations for you this year. You are to follow all rules related to your probation. You are to get high marks in all of your courses and be polite to your professors. You are to be especially kind to all pureblood students. Their families have been very gracious in letting us back into the inner circle. You will not tarnish the Malfoy name.” 

As much as you already have. “Yes, Father.”

The rest of the meal passed in silence. Draco focused on closing his mind and feeling nothing, channeling his intense focus from his Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape and his aunt. When a knock sounded at the door, no Malfoy moved to answer it, but Draco put down his half-eaten toast and looked toward the doorway. A wave of nausea and anxiety rushed over him. 

“The car is here for you, Master Draco” Tilly said. Draco’s parents weren’t allowed to accompany him to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters this year. He was somewhat relieved. His parents hadn’t been out in public at all since the War ended, and neither had he. Over his months spent lounging around in apathy, he had imagined dozens of scenarios, dozens of possible reactions to his presence. In all of them, the response was infinitely better without his parents there. 

He stood up and shook Lucius’s outstretched hand. “Goodbye Father.” Lucius nodded. Draco breathed, wanting to keep the empty, nonplussed feeling he had mustered instead of the rush of emotion rising up inside of him. He would not miss his father. He would not. There was no reason to feel anything except neutrality or relief. 

Draco turned to his mother. Narcissa embraced him, and he sighed, releasing something deep inside of him. Tears threatened to escape, but Draco had become good at refusing to let them fall. As Narcissa pulled away, Draco cupped her face in his hands. “I’ll be okay, Mother. I promise you.” His voice threatened to crack, and he felt a deep ache in his chest.

Rare tears shone in Narcissa’s eyes, but like her son, she did not let them fall. “I love you so much, my son. My Dragon.”

“I love you too. Take care of yourself, alright?” He made eye contact with his father as he said this, and his father nodded. Draco hoped he could trust his father to take care of Narcissa, trust him to do this one thing right. 

Draco grabbed his trunk, this time finding the strength inside of him to lift it off the ground completely. Then he stepped outside into the new world, feeling sure that it would be an even better one were he not in it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finally boards the Hogwarts Express—and has a shocking compartment companion

Chapter Two

Draco already had a headache by the time he got to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. He was sure it had something to do with the fact that he could feel waves of disgust flowing off of his Ministry driver, who did not say one word to him during the whole car ride. The platform was more crowded than last year, but there were still less eager and confused first years than when he started his Hogwarts journey seven years prior.

As he passed through the crowd searching for a place to lay low, parents were thankfully mostly distracted. Some turned their child away and clasped them to their chests, glaring at Draco as he passed. Some looked at him as though they were aware they knew him (probably from the cover of _The Prophet_ on the day of his trial) but could not place him. All in all, his first outing was not going too poorly. Draco leaned against a pillar out of sight, to lurk and people-watch.

Looking around, Draco saw Gregory Goyle, also skulking near the back of the train station. He, too, was alone; his father was in Azkaban, and Draco was not sure where his mother was. He looked thinner than Draco had ever seen him—likely Vincent Crabbe’s death did a number on him. But at least Draco knew he would have one friend to help him survive the year. He mustered his face into what he hoped was a friendly and warm expression. Greg caught his eye, and Draco nodded encouragingly. Gregory Goyle glared at him and turned away.

Draco’s heart fell and he couldn’t help but let out a small sigh, just for himself. Nothing should surprise him anymore, but this still did. Of course Gregory wouldn’t want to talk to him. His actions led to the death of Vincent, who was Gregory’s best mate. Draco certainly spent the most time around the two of them, and they were his mates, but Draco was really only around them when he needed something. Vincent and Greg were inseparable. The friendship may not have been irreparable, but Draco didn’t write Greg at all this summer, save the letter that was supposed to be sent to Greg and others after Draco’s death in prison. But Draco never sent those letters, never even wrote new ones. He didn’t think about anyone but himself as he paced around his room for months. And now he was truly alone, able to spend more time with himself than he could ever want.

Draco wasn’t sure what to do. He could approach Greg and try to win him back over. Looking around the platform, he didn’t see any of the other “eighth-year” Slytherins. He decided to board the train a little early, hoping for an empty compartment. He went for the one toward the back, shut the door, and pulled down the shade. He hoisted his trunk on the top shelf with difficulty and collapsed into the seat, taking comfort sitting down. Trying to keep his breathing even was an embarrassing challenge. Draco wondered if this was the furthest he had walked and the most active he had been since the Battle.

_Who was even coming back, besides Greg_? Theodore Nott and his mother defected to France after his father ended up in Azkaban. Pansy Parkinson moved to America, wanted to break into the world of Wizarding fashion. He wasn’t sure where Blaise Zabini was. Vincent Crabbe was dead. He always knew the Greengrass family to be somewhat of blood traitors, so he was a little surprised to not see them—their reputation should have survived. As of right now, though, Draco was without cronies.

Draco couldn’t explained why this unsettled him so much. He was used to being lonely, but he was not used to being alone. Whenever he needed something, there was always an easy way to get it. And now it seemed that he had no allies. Without a posse, he didn’t know who he was or what he could do. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window, praying that he would be uninterrupted the whole journey.

He must have fallen asleep and rather quickly too, because he silently jolted awake when the door to his compartment burst opened. The individual who disturbed him was breathing quickly and bolted the door—something Draco realized he should have done. The figure’s back was still turned to Draco, but he could nevertheless tell that it was none other than Harry Potter who had entered his compartment. Draco didn’t know how to react. Seeing Potter brought back memories that he didn’t want to relive—the Fiendfyre, when him and his friends were captured at Malfoy Manor. Draco was literally face-to-face with one of his nightmares.

Potter gave a sigh and finally turned around—also freezing in his tracks. “Mal—Draco. I’m sorry, I—“ he looked around as if there was something else to see besides Draco’s shocked face. “I didn’t know you were in here or I wouldn’t have—I mean, I was just trying to escape all the people, you know, and find somewhere quiet.” Potter stopped here, clearly expecting Draco to speak, but his tongue was frozen. Draco’s heart was beating rapidly. Having not talked for a majority of the summer, and having only really talked to his parents, he didn’t know what to say.

“Could—could I sit here? Or are you waiting for others?” Harry stammered. A second passed before Draco could respond.

“Where are all your—little fans Potter? Don’t you want to bask in your glory?” Draco’s tone started as confusion and ended as malice. That definitely took longer than it should have. Draco couldn’t think of a proper insult for a moment, and the one he came up with didn’t have nearly as much bite as his insults used to have.

“Firstly, I don’t know if you could tell from _The Prophet_’s quips this summer but I hate the press, and the crowds. Second, Hermione is one of the Head Girls, and Ron didn’t come back. Ginny’s a prefect, so are a lot of the others. So I’m on my own until we get to school.” Draco didn’t know how to respond to that. He wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t asked to play a leadership role for the new school year, despite his past as a prefect. He also wasn’t surprised that the remainder of “Dumbledore’s Army” were elevated to higher standing. “So...er, can I sit here?” Potter moved to sit.

“I—I don’t care what you do, Potter.”

Harry gave a small smile. “That’s exactly why I asked,” he said while sitting across from him. “It’s a nice break, you not caring what I do.”

Draco moved his head to look out the window. He really wanted to close his eyes and get some rest, but he wouldn’t dare be vulnerable in front of Potter. A few minutes passed in silence, then the Hogwarts Express gave a choo and started moving.

“Er—how was your summer?”

Draco slowly turned his head toward Potter, sitting across from him. Potter looked open and somewhat eager to have a conversation. _Stupid Potter. Looking so—hopeful, like a child._ _As if the past year didn’t happen_. “Why are you speaking to me, Potter? I don’t need you or your pity. I don’t need you to ruin the few peaceful hours I have left.”

Potter actually looked annoyed at this. “Look, Draco, I genuinely thought you had changed and we could start out on a different foot. The past is in the past—“  
  
“First of all _Potter_,” Draco said, deeply disturbed at the use of his first name by his arch nemesis and wanted to remind Harry of his place. “Bold of you to assume that I would even want to be friendly with the likes of you. Second—“ Draco gestured to the magical band on his wrist. “If the past is in the past, why the bloody hell am I wearing this like an animal?”

Potter frowned. “What is that?”

Draco was actually taken aback. “You don’t know?” His voice softened, and then he morphed his face back into a hard expression. “Never you mind, Potter. Just leave me alone.”

Potter sighed. “Fair enough.”

Draco leaned back, determined not to fall asleep despite his exhaustion—this conversation probably matched how much he had spoken this entire summer. Maybe half an hour passed with Draco just staring out the window, his mind blissfully blank, before there was a knock on the compartment door. Draco and Harry turned to look at the door, but neither moved. The curtain blocked their view of who was on the other side.

“Is—is Harry Potter in here? Please, we’re huge fans and it’s our first year and I—“

Without knowing why, Draco quickly moved and flung open the compartment door, finding himself looking down at three small first year girls, clutching notepads and portable quills to their chests. “Your stupid Savior isn’t here.” The girls looked horrified, likely both by his manner of greeting them and by the fact that he was Draco Malfoy, the only student Death Eater. “Go bother someone else.” He slammed the door shut and slumped back down.

“That was...interesting. You didn’t have to scare them like that though, they mean well.”

Draco made eye contact with Harry, who to his great annoyance looked amused. Draco glared. “Like I said Potter, these are my last moments of peace. I don’t need stupid little Potter groupies ruining any second.”

“Right. Well—er—thanks.” Harry broke Draco’s gaze and fiddled with the armrest of the compartment.

“Shut up Potter, I didn’t do it for you.” More silence. Draco didn’t know why, but he was starting to feel a little ill. He leaned his head against the cool window and closed his eyes, trying to calm down. He did not want this problem following him to school. He was going to leave all this behind at the Manor. He was going to go to school, not speak to anyone, and graduate in the most boring possible way. Then—well, he could think about what would happen after that once he got there.

“Could—could I ask you a question, Draco?”

“You probably will regardless of what I say,” Draco mumbled with his teeth clenched and eyes still closed.

“I saw Goyle. Why aren’t you sitting with him?”

That unleashed something inside Draco. Enraged, he stood up and went to leave the compartment. He felt like he needed air, or to vomit, or to yell at those first years more. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he couldn’t stay here.

As he put his hand on the door handle, though, he realized he couldn’t leave either. What if there were people waiting to see if Potter came out, and they saw him? What jeers would he have to endure then? He would certainly deserve them, he knew. But he didn’t want to face it. He was a coward. And he was trapped.

“Hey—I’m sorry. You don’t have to leave, I’ll stop. That was too abrupt.”

_Potter is apologizing to me?_ Draco took a second to make sure his voice would be even when he spoke again. “You have nothing to apologize for, Potter, because I don’t care.” Draco sighed and slowly walked back to his seat, resuming the same position as earlier, and feeling a lot worse. He tried closing his eyes and breathing deeply for a few minutes, but it wasn’t helping free his mind. He needed a distraction.

“Why aren’t you Head Boy? Saint Potter and all.”

“They offered it to me, but I didn’t want it. I just want to relax for once.”

Draco scoffed. “The day that you go to Hogwarts and anyone can relax is the day that Kneazles will take to the skies.”

Harry laughed. “You’re funny when you’re not being such a prick.”

Draco scoffed. “Actually, why are you here at all? I would have thought you’d be Head Auror right out of the gate.”

Harry shrugged. “I really did want to relax and spend some time with my friends. I just finished fighting off—dark wizards for years, I didn’t want to go straight into it again.” There was silence, the space made by Harry’s hesitation growing stronger. Draco wasn’t sure he had ever had a real conversation with Harry, so he wasn’t sure how to make it continue, or why he wanted it to continue. “What about you?” Harry asked this quietly, as if Draco was delicate, which he hated. “Why are you back?”

Draco was silent for a moment. “I didn’t have a choice.” He was hoping in the quiet moment before he spoke that he would come up with a better answer than that. Draco was left with a sinking feeling as he let his mind move with the motion of the train.

_A sharp knock sounded at his door. Lucius Malfoy didn’t bother to wait for an answer before shoving the door open with a sense of urgency. “Draco, the Snatchers think they have Harry Potter. You must come now, you can identify him. This—this could bring our greatest reward yet.”_

_Draco looked at his incredibly pale and aged father from where he was sitting at his desk. His body tried to react properly—with terror—but Draco shoved the feelings away. He needed to protect his mother. He needed to maintain his composure and remember his teachings—empty the mind, feel nothing. But if Harry Potter were truly captured, then it was all over. There was no more hope for change._

_The walk downstairs felt extraordinarily long. Draco took it slowly, trying to come up with some sort of a plan. Walking into the parlor, Draco recognized Granger and Weasley instantly, but something was wrong with Potter. His face was swollen, as if he were jinxed._

_Draco kneeled down in front of him. “What—what’s wrong with his face?” He asked quietly. He met Harry’s unswollen eye. Potter was trying to communicate to Draco, but Draco had no clue what he was trying to say._

_“Do it,” his aunt whispered behind him. “Kill him.”_

“_What? No, I don’t want to—I don’t want to do this!” All of a sudden Draco was back at the Astronomy Tower, but it was Harry he was facing instead of Professor Dumbledore. “I have to do this. I have to do this.” He pointed his wand at the deformed Harry Potter, his hand shaking—_

Draco jolted awake with a gasp, which was thankfully muffled by the sound of Harry lowering his trunk to his seat. He must have fallen asleep, much to his horror. It was now dark outside and Potter was—good lord, Potter was only in his undershirt.

“Rise and shine—I was just going to wake you actually. We should get our robes on, we’re almost there.”

Still shaky from the nightmare, Draco’s heart dropped into his stomach. He was almost back at Hogwarts, the place where he planned his Headmaster’s death and almost executed it, the place where he tortured first years—don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it  
  
Something was wrong, something that had happened a few times this past summer and multiple times during sixth year, but that Draco hoped was an irregularity. He tried not to show to Potter his rapid breathing and shaking hands as he stood up to reach for his trunk. Spots flashed across his vision when he stood, and he found himself leaning on the wall.

“Woah—you alright? Easy...” Draco protested as Harry grabbed his arm and lowered him back into the seat—but he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, he thought he was going to pass out. He put his hand on his chest as he hyperventilated. He was terrified and humiliated that this was happening in front of Harry Potter, of all people. The last time Harry had seen him like this did not end well.

Draco wasn’t sure how much time passed but when his breathing slowed and he became aware again, he heard Harry mumbling to him. “I know how you feel. Well, I don’t have panic attacks but it’s hard for me to go back too. I actually went a few weeks ago, to see if I could handle it. That helped a bit, I think. To just walk around the grounds and feel the losses.” Draco looked up slowly, still feeling the room tilt a little. Harry was sitting in front of him, eye-level as Draco was bent over with his head nearly touching his knees. Harry wasn’t looking at Draco anymore though, almost as if he were talking to himself. His hand was still on Draco’s arm—thankfully his right arm.

Harry noticed that Draco was calming down. “You alright?”

Draco sat up fully and Harry moved back. Draco ran his hands through his hair, sighing shakily. “I’m fine, Potter.”

Harry looked at him for a moment more and stood to finish putting on his robes. “I think you had a panic attack. You should see Madame Pomfrey when you get a chance.”

“A—a what?”

Harry paused and looked at Draco. “A panic attack. It’s the Muggle term for—well, for what just happened.”

“I have a Muggle disease?!?” This did not help Draco’s anxiety.

“No no, not a disease,” Harry looked amused. “Just a—a thing. It’s normal, especially for someone who’s been through a lot, y’know? You probably weren’t hearing me but I went through the same thing—“

“I—I don’t want to hear about what you went through, Potter. You and I are totally different. I don’t care what you have to say. I’m fine. Just leave me alone, I don’t know why you’re bothering me so much.” Draco thrust open his trunk and started gathering his robes.

Harry glared at him. “You know, you should learn to accept help Draco, because clearly you need it.” Harry gathered his things and left, slamming the door behind him.

Draco, still catching his breath, slammed the lid of his trunk down in frustration. Stupid Potter. I don’t need his help. _I don’t need anyone’s help_. He tried to push down the shame that Harry had seen him so vulnerable—and even deeper inside of him, the shame that he was so rude to someone who tried to comfort him.

Draco straightened his robes as the train came to a stop. He made sure he was fully composed before he stepped off the Hogwarts Express with his trunk—hopefully for the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your love! I realized my italics from copy/paste don’t transfer so hopefully I got all of them manually. Hopefully the next chapter will be posted tomorrow


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco faces his first meal back at Hogwarts, and gets an unpleasant surprise when he sees the new dormitory.

**Chapter 3**

Draco walked off the Hogwarts Express with a new determination. He was going to show Potter that he didn’t need “help” and that he didn’t have Muggle ailments. While many students were gawking at the Thestrals pulling the carriages, now finally able to see them (Draco was able to see them last year for the first time), Draco looked for Gregory and any other potentially friendly faces.

He found Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, and Gregory Goyle boarding a carriage together. He quickly hopped on before the thestrals trotted away.

“Hi Draco,” Daphne Greengrass said quietly. She was sitting next to Greg and across from Blaise and Draco. Blaise did not look unhappy to see Draco, but raised his eyebrows in surprise. Greg looked down at his feet.

“Hello Daphne, Blaise. Greg.” Draco said Greg’s name quietly.

“Where were you on the train?” Blaise asked in a somewhat accusatory tone.

“Oh,” Draco scoffed. “You won’t believe this—I was trapped in a compartment with Saint Potter. I boarded the train early to try and find an empty one and he goes barging in, disturbing my peace, and insisted on staying.”

“Merlin,” Blaise sighed. “It’s going to be so unbearable with Potter here now.” He turned to Draco. “We were talking about our new living arrangements on the train. All the eighth years are going to share one dorm room instead of being divided into houses—for _unity’s_ sake,” he snarled with contempt.

Draco’s heart raced—this he didn’t expect. “What, all the blokes will share a dorm? There’s got to be at least ten of us.”

“Apparently we’re only rooming two-by-two,” Daphne chimed in. “To give us some privacy. I don’t think it’s a terrible idea, actually.”

“Yeah but if they’re spewing this nonsense about unity and harmony and whatever, there’s no way they’re going to let us room together,” Blaise said, gesturing to Draco and Greg. “And I don’t know who you’d be living with, Daphne, but hopefully not the mudblood Granger.” Draco felt a sharp and unnatural twinge of disgust at the use of that word—come to think of it, he hadn’t said it in months.

“You shouldn’t say that anymore, Blaise,” Daphne lowered her voice. “We could get in trouble.”

“Any more than we already are? Draco over here is practically in handcuffs!” Blaise gestured to Draco’s manacle, which Draco rubbed self-consciously.

“And you think it doesn’t get any worse than a band on the wrist? Were you even here last year?” Daphne raised her voice and glared at Blaise.

“Shut up, all of you!” Greg finally spoke up, jerking Draco to attention. “Just...shut up.” Daphne patted Greg’s arm.

“I’m sorry. You’re right,” Daphne said, though Greg hadn’t really said anything that warranted an agreement. “We need to stick together, not argue with each other.”

“Very true,” Draco said quietly.

The rest of the short carriage ride passed in mostly silence, with only a few remarks here and there hypothesizing what was to come. Draco was starting to feel more comfortable with the idea of going back to school. He was around individuals who knew a little bit what he had gone through, what he had done...and they were still speaking to him. _I guess that’s all I can ask for._ Finally, the carriage reached at the castle. While Hagrid ushered first years into the Great Hall—_I can’t believe the oaf is still around_—everyone else walked in to find a surprise.

There were still four long tables set up for each of the houses with a table at the top for the staff. However, there was another table close to the back, perpendicular to the four house tables, that was slightly smaller than the rest. It was decorated as finely as the rest and had room for about twenty individuals.

Professor McGonagall waited at the entrance where Draco, Gregory, Daphne, and Blaise were gawking at the bright scene before them. She looked better than she had last year, Draco noticed, but was still aged more than she should have been since Draco first walked through this hall as a first year. Despite the sufferings of last year, her eyes gleamed, and Draco was surprised when she met his gaze and gave him a small smile. “Ah, good to see you four. Please have a seat at the new table for eighth-years.” She gestured to the small back table.

“All—all the houses are going to be at one table? For the eighth years?”

“Yes Mr. Zabini. As the new leaders of this school, it is important for you twenty to unify. We’re going to talk more about your role as the first—and hopefully last—eighth years of Hogwarts later. For now, please take a seat.

Draco and Blaise sat across from Gregory and Daphne at the very end of the table, while all the other eighth years gathered as far away from them as possible. It was Potter, Granger, and Longbottom that sat the closest to them, but even they kept a respectable distance. _So we are the only returning Slytherins_, Draco realized. This was going to be a difficult year. _Anything is better than last year, I suppose_.

The Great Hall was a stark contrast to how gloomy it had been the year prior. Everything was bright, warm, and welcoming. There were candles lit everywhere, and the fake sky above reflected a clear night with glimmering constellations. Most students looked almost giddy with relief, glad that the return didn’t seem as daunting as it had in the bleak summer months. Ghosts roamed the tables and joked with the students—last year they had steered clear of everyone under Professor Snape’s orders. Happy chatter and laughter filled the air, which was bursting with hope for a new year.

Even the eighth year table was a part of this celebration. Their table was particularly adorned with fineries, and gave the recently reacquainted plenty to talk about. The only four students who didn’t seem pleased with the affair were Draco and his friends. Draco felt a guilty pit in his stomach. No one was paying him any attention, though possibly due to his being concealed at the back of the Hall. _They should be driving me out of here with the forks and knives. How can they laugh? How can they be happy? Don’t they remember how bloody this hall was?_ His eyes kept wandering to the Headmaster’s chair above—once occupied by the man he tried to kill, and more recently by his now dead mentor. Still slightly shaky from his earlier panic attack and not wanting a relapse, Draco reached for his goblet. He thought of firewhiskey, being of age, but found it only filled with water. He drank gratefully anyway—his throat felt dry and scratchy.

The crowd hushed suddenly, and Draco’s hand flew to his robe pocket to grasp his new wand. But the silence was only because Professor McGonagall had taken the stand, a sizable group of first years standing by her waiting to be sorted. She was beaming down at the crowd, head held high. “Hello students. It is my great pleasure to welcome all of you back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Cheers erupted in the crowd with some already waving their hats. Once everyone had quieted, the elderly Headmistress continued to speak.

“However, we cannot move forward without acknowledging what is behind us. We have all been greatly affected by the Second Wizarding War. We have lost loved ones, been injured in the mind and body, and continue to remember those dark days. The fallen will not be forgotten for their ultimate sacrifice.” She paused, and everyone bowed their heads in mourning. “In this poignant moment, I am pleased to announce that those who have returned to Hogwarts at the age of eighteen to earn their degree properly—our eighth year students—will have the year-long project of deciding how we should remember our heroes, and our villains.”

“What? I didn’t hear anything about this stupid project,” Zabini grumbled from Draco’s left.

“Additional resources will be available throughout the year to help all students readjust to a peaceful school environment. But for now, enough chitter-chatter. Let us celebrate Hogwarts in the most traditional way—by welcoming our new first years into one of our four equally prestigious Hogwarts houses.”

Applause broke out, but Daphne rolled her eyes. “Equally prestigious my—“

Before she could finish that thought, the Sorting Hat was placed on the podium and began its song. It was not nearly as depressing as last years’, which Professor Snape actually cut short due to its message being about uniting against the Dark Lord. At the time, Draco had told himself it was very silly to worry for the safety of a hat, but the look on his favorite teacher’s face had made his stomach turn. Apparently he had nothing to fear, though, for the Hat was alive and well. And—talkative. Draco zoned out for most of its song, and the sorting that followed. He did notice that the few first-years who got Slytherin as their house looked crest-fallen, and Draco felt a pang of sympathy during the minimal applause.

Finally it was time for the feast, and a pit settled in Draco’s stomach again. Amazing food lay before him, but the smell just made him nauseous. How many times had he eaten in the Great Hall last year under the watchful gaze of Death Eater professors, tightly surrounded by his allies who looked to him for guidance and information? How many times had others not as fortunate been barred entry into the Great Hall by the Carrows? How many people sometime didn’t get to eat for days?

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair as happy chatter settled around him. Diagonally from Draco, Gregory seemed to be having a similar problem, and again Draco noticed his thin frame. Daphne put some food on Gregory’s plate and smiled encouragingly. Gregory managed a small smile back before putting a shaking hand on his fork. The beginning part of the feast passed quietly as the four Slytherins tried to focus on keeping their panic at bay.

“Thank Merlin, some decent food,” Blaise said, already on his second plate. “My house elves got taken away by the Ministry for questioning, and the replacements they sent couldn’t cook for their lives—almost literally. My mom went mental after the fifth night of dry chicken in a row.” Draco gave a noncommittal grunt in response as he reluctantly piled some food on his plate. “What about you mate, whatever happened to all your house elves? Did the Ministry take them away?”

“Of course not,” Gregory finally spoke up, meeting Draco’s eyes for the first time with fire in them that made Draco think he was seeing the ghost of Vincent. “Thanks to Saint Potter, Malfoy got off clean. The whole family, even though the lot of you deserve to rot.”

“You shut up about my family, Goyle.” He and Goyle have never been on last name terms, except as a joke. This was no laughing matter. “I can’t help what Potter does, and trust me, part of me would rather be rotting in Azkaban than sitting here with you.” Draco couldn’t control his anger, even though he knew that defending his family was a nearly impossible task. Malice was a reflex of his, particularly when he felt as vulnerable as he did sitting at the same table as Harry Potter.

“Would you two calm down? People are starting to stare!” Daphne hissed. It was true; Potter and his friends were now looking at Draco, who had both hands flat on the table as though he was going to spring up and attack Goyle, who was incredibly red in the face.

Everyone was silent for a few moments, then Granger spoke up. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, Harry. We all need to heal and unite, regardless of what happened in the past.”

“No one asked for your opinion, Mud—hey!” Draco had tensed when Blaise said the first syllable of the curse word, but his cry of pain and Daphne’s glare told him he had nothing to fear.

“What did you just call her?” Harry moved to stand from the table.

“He didn’t call her anything. You have something you want to say?” Goyle threw down his napkin and stood up.

“You know exactly what he was going to say. This is why something like that would never work, Hermione. You’re a better person than all of us for wanting to try, but look: they haven’t learned a thing. I was naive to think otherwise.” Harry put down his fork and walked out of the Great Hall. Hermione looked as though she were going to follow him, but Neville put his hand on her shoulder, whispering to her.

“I say we wait a few minutes so he’s far enough away, then we leave too. We don’t need to be here,” Blaise said, angrily taking a bite of his turkey leg.

“Where are we going to go? Do we even know where we’re staying?” Draco wasn’t sure exactly what information was in the letters he ignored all summer.

“I think you would know if you had responded to any of my letters, Mr. Malfoy,” Draco had not noticed Professor McGonagall approaching their table. She now addressed everyone. “I suspected some of you may want to end your night early. You will not be receiving your class schedules tomorrow, as we are still working some of that out. However, we will be having a discussion about your freedoms as past of-age students, and the responsibilities that come with those freedoms. Ms. Granger will be serving as the Head Girl of your year, and Mr. Longbottom will be serving as Head Boy. Ms. Granger, could you show everyone to their quarters?” Hermione nodded.

The four Slytherins stood up and went to the back of the group. Draco noticed that during the walk, most groups clustered together by house. Granger, Finnegan, Thomas, and Longbottom were together at the front. The Parvati twins were the only two individuals talking from different houses. Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones were talking with Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernest Macmillan, while the five remaining Ravenclaws climbed the stairs together as well.

Granger turned around and called to the rest. “They’ve renovated the whole Prefect area into a dormitory for us. They figured no one would mind giving up that luxury if it meant we could earn our degrees.”

“I think they mind about at least four of us continuing our education,” Blaise muttered under his breath. Draco was too busy trying to keep his breathing even to speak. It was a combination of anxiety and atrophy that led him to being winded with every flight of stairs they climbed.

“Here we are,” Hermione stopped in front of a door with a gold number eight on it. “This door is not actually password protected—it knows our hands when we touch the doorknob. That way we can invite in whoever we want, as long as they have permission of one eighth-year.” She led them all inside the spacious grounds. The common room was mostly red, but had areas of each color. It had a small kitchen, plenty of seating, and board games in the corner. Window seats were adorned with pillows and had bookshelves below. The space looked lovely, but unfortunately for Draco, very open. There were few nooks and crannies in which to hide or skulk. He would have to keep to his room.

“Alright everyone,” Hermione turned to face the small crowd. “We’re rooming in pairs. Two pairs share a bathroom. Due to the new House Elf Liberation program, we’re going to have to clean up after ourselves a bit more; we only get cleanings every week.” Blaise rolled his eyes. Draco couldn’t find it in himself to care—he liked to be tidy as it was. “Your names are on your doors. Have a good night everyone, Neville and I will see you tomorrow morning for our first briefing.”

The crowd dispersed, with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan chatting with Neville Longbottom as they walked to the board games, and the Patil twins leading the charge to the bedrooms. Draco, Blaise, Gregory, and Daphne soon followed tentatively. Draco read the names on the doors as he passed—Neville and Gregory, Daphne and Parvati, Ernest and Blaise, and—no. This couldn’t possibly be right.

At the door at the very end, in the larger suite, read the names Harry and Draco. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments of support! It’s really pushing me to keep writing this story. Let me know if you have any suggestions or things you want to have happen as the plot takes shape!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco’s first night back at Hogwarts

**Chapter Four**

Blaise let out a low whistle behind Draco. “Wow. That’s...interesting. Hey, at least you get the big room, right?” Blaise put his hand on Draco’s shoulder and Draco flinched out of reflex. Over the past two years, a hand on a shoulder was never a good thing. His father would do it when he wanted to coax Draco. Aunt Bellatrix would place her hand on his shoulder and rub it as praise after he tortured someone. The Dark Lord would place his cold fingers on Draco’s shoulder when he wanted Draco to move aside, usually after Draco tortured the individual enough so they gave proper information and it was time for them to be killed.

As Draco broke away from these memories, he noticed Blaise’s eyebrows furrowed as he drew his hand away. Draco had to recover—he could not show weakness in front of Blaise. “Um...yeah. Bigger room, right. Well, I’m sure Potter will take more than his fair share of the room.” Thankfully Draco’s attempt at diverting the situation was successful—Blaise’s concerned expression turned into a grin.

“Well, good luck mate. Have a good night and let me know if you need anything. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Draco said goodbye and Blaise walked toward his room and shut the door.

Once he was gone, Draco was left standing outside his new bedroom. He put his hand on the doorknob, trying to work up the courage to go in. He had been under the assumption that he would be rooming with the other eighth-year Slytherins. That wasn’t such a big deal—they already heard him cry in his sleep for the past two years, and they were either kind or embarrassed enough not to say anything to him about it. But Potter—first he saw Draco’s...fit on the train, now this? Draco couldn’t even use a Silencing charm with the damned manacle on his wrist.

There was no clear and quick solution, and Draco didn’t want to draw attention to himself by just staring blankly at the door. He took a deep breath and walked inside.

The quarters really were quite nice. The side of the room that was clearly Potter’s was red, and in addition to the four-poster bed and wardrobe had a desk and an armchair that sat near the window overlooking the grounds. Draco got an equally large portion of the room which had a fluffy green rug and similar furniture. His trunk was waiting for him at the end of his bed.

Potter was sitting at the armchair when Draco walked in, but turned around at the sight of him and stood. “Hi. I know—it isn’t really ideal for me either.” Draco wasn’t sure what sort of an expression he was wearing at the moment, but clearly it reflected some of his disgust and horror at the thought of sharing a room with Potter for a whole year. “But I was thinking—after my little bout of anger earlier—that we should make the best of it. Of course,” he said, moving closer to Draco. “I won’t tolerate any hatred from anybody. Not toward you, not toward Hermione, not toward Muggle-borns or purebloods. We’ve dealt with too much of that already. We don’t have to be friends, but everyone has to be decent people this year. So, what do you think?” Harry extended his hand to Draco.

This action immediately brought Draco back to first year, when he offered Harry a place by his side. He had made some stupid speech about not wanting Potter to hang with the wrong crowd, and then he extended his small hand to reach Harry’s. Harry Potter refused him. After his father had told Draco to try and befriend the Boy Who Lived, Draco was horribly disappointed in himself. In Lucius’s first letter to him at Hogwarts, the first question asked how close Draco had become with Harry. Draco remembered writing his reply admitting defeat, gripping his quill so hard that some of the feathers fell off. He turned his sadness into something easier to deal with—hatred.

Draco knew this was a turning point for him, and he knew he was running out of time to make a decision. He swallowed and took a deep breath. He slowly reached out his hand, but when his fingers touched Potter’s, he snatched it away.

“I—I’m not going to take orders from you Potter.” He meant to say it with malice, but instead sort of mumbled it and turned away to hide his shaking fingers. He moved to start unpacking his trunk.

Harry sighed behind him and did the same, grabbing some nightclothes and leaving the room toward the restroom they shared with Neville and Gregory. After hearing the door close, Draco sat down on his bed and put his head in his hands. He grabbed strands of his hair and started pulling slightly at them, just enough to feel the ache in his scalp. He felt as though there were a second Battle of Hogwarts taking place inside of him.

He saw the path where he had taken Potter’s hand just then. Tonight when the nightmares came, Potter didn’t mock him, just brought him a cup of tea and sat on the end of his bed, talking nonsense until Draco’s heart rate slowed. He saw himself able to feel comfortable at the eighth-year table, giving Potter a friendly nod once and a while. He saw himself comforting Potter when he had a nightmare—he must have them, wouldn’t he?—and making him tea, and maybe telling him that he was sorry—

_No_. Draco slapped his hands on his thighs in frustration. _Malfoys do not apologize._ _Malfoys are not sorry_. But how many times over the past year did he hear his father stammer out an apology to the Dark Lord? How many times did his father apologize to him? Draco had apologized to no one. When he was a child, he was always told what a Malfoy was and what a Malfoy was not. He held onto that like it was his life raft in the ocean. It was all he felt he had. And he was going to use that life raft to keep his sanity this year.

The last hour of the evening passed in silence as Draco prepared for a long night. There was no way he was going to fall asleep now, not with Potter right there to listen to his every cry and plea. Not after he had rejected Potter’s handshake. He got some rest on the train so he would be alright until the next day. That was a good plan—he would sleep during the day and do all his homework at night. Draco was sure he could find six hours during the day to sleep. Maybe he could even learn to make simple meals in the kitchen, it was good to learn domestic spells anyway—_oh wait. I can’t use any magic outside the classroom._

Draco climbed into bed and sat down propped up, pulling the covers over him and focusing on the moonlight. Tonight would be the hardest night since Draco had nothing to do to keep his mind occupied. In fact, as the seconds ticked by, Draco became more and more anxious. He had to both stay awake and somehow not think about anything that could trigger another whatever-that-was like he had on the train.

His stomach turned—he had not eaten much at the banquet but it was certainly enough for a whole day—maybe two. He was thinking about his classes from last year—the information that is, trying to refresh himself on spells and potions before continuing his education, when he felt himself jerk awake. _Shit, I fell asleep_. This wasn’t working.

So he decided to crack open his door and try to see if there was anyone inside the common room. From his angle, it looked empty. The Gryffindors’ Exploding Snap game had been abandoned, with pillows strewn over the floor as cushions. Draco tentatively moved toward the kitchen, but it seemed he was in the clear. He sighed and turned to make himself some tea.

“I already made some, if you want to have a cuppa.” Draco nearly collapsed with shock and fear, and before he knew what he was doing he had drawn his wand and spun around. The manacle on his wrist send a wave of pain through him as a warning, and he dropped his wand to clench his hand. _Stupid Granger._

“Are you alright?” Hermione Granger stood up, concerned at his bent-over figure.

“Fine,” Draco said through gritted teeth. He picked up his wand and put it back in his robe pocket. “You startled the living daylights out of me.”

“I’m sorry.” _God, why do these Gryffindors apologize for every little drop of milk spilled_? It was unnerving to Draco. He stood awkwardly for a second, not quite sure how to make his exit but knowing that he definitely could not stay.

“I meant it, about the cup of tea. The kettle is right there,” Hermione nodded to the stovetop.

“I—um...sure. Thanks.” Draco knew that it would not be polite to turn down anyone’s tea after they knew his intentions of making his own. He poured himself a cup of tea and moved toward his room. “Well. Goodnight.”

“Wait—“ Granger said, settling back down on the sofa. “I—could I just ask you some questions? I have an idea but I need some background, and I want to see what...what the Slytherins may think of something like this.”

Draco really wasn’t in the mood to tolerate stupid ideas. He glanced at the clock, though—it was only a quarter past two. He had many hours to kill before morning, and at least this way he knew he wouldn’t fall asleep. “Fine.” He settled into an armchair across Hermione.

“Was Crabbe a Death Eater?” Draco glared into Granger’s piercing eyes.

“No. Not officially. I was the only student that was.” Draco grit his teeth—he really didn’t want to talk about Crabbe.

“Ginny told me that he tortured first years. Is that true?”

“What the hell is this Granger, an interrogation?” Draco shifted in his chair, ready to stand up and leave.

“No, no. Not at all, I promise. I just—he’s one of the students that died and we’re trying to think of a way to honor them all. I just want to know...how we should honor him. If that makes sense.”

“Leave him out of your project Granger, I don’t care.” Draco felt shame in his gut. Vincent would not have died if Draco hadn’t dragged him to the Room of Requirement on that night. Shouldn’t he be sticking up for his friend? Even if his friend did terrible things?

“First of all Draco, it’s _our_ project, it’s just my idea. Second, I don’t think we should leave him out. From what Ginny was able to tell me, he was an integral part of...the operations here. At the time.” Draco knew what Hermione meant. He was in charge of organizing seventh years to help the Carrows with detentions and other punishments. To be quite honest, Vincent was the only one eager to take part in the task. He loved to talk about who cried the most, and who was trying to be brave at first and then crumbled once put under the Cruciatus. He loved to use the Imperius curse in the hallways to make first and second years do stupid things that sometimes endangered themselves. His main goal upon graduation was to become a Death Eater.

_Also, why the hell is everyone using my first name all of a sudden?_ “Yes, Granger, he took glee in what we did. He was the only one. And now he’s dead, so congratulations.”

“I don’t take glee in it, Draco. Not a bit.” They were both silent for a moment. “How would you like to honor him? Or Goyle, what does he think?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m going to bed.” Draco set down his still-full cup of tea and got up, ignoring Granger’s protests.

He quietly crept into the room so as not to wake Potter, who was mumbling in his sleep. Draco sighed as he settled back into bed. He was exhausted and nauseated from Granger’s conversation. _That’s the last time I’ll accept a cup of tea from any of Potter’s friends_. He glanced at the clock illuminated by the moonlight—it was only two-thirty.

Draco shifted so that he could lay down. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay awake all night and was ready to admit defeat. As per usual. So he did the next best thing he knew how to do.

He tried to summon the happiest memories of his life. Riding on his toy broom as a child with his father and mother cheering him on. The first time he played the piano. Meeting Vincent and Gregory in his primary school academy. Winter balls at Pansy’s house where the kids snuck out to go sledding at night. His pride at being sorted into Slytherin. Lazy summers in Italy and France with his parents, back when they were happy and in love.  
  
As he closed his eyes, he concentrated on watching these images fly past him again and again, a cycle of comfort in which he could maybe find some peace.

“Draco! Draco it’s alright!”

No it wasn’t. He was in a burning room clutching onto Potter for dear life, he couldn’t breathe, he could smell the smoke, he couldn’t believe Potter was trying to comfort him—

Wait, Potter was facing him, not on a broomstick. He looked around—he wasn’t in the Room of Requirement, he was in his new bedroom. Sunlight crept through the window. He was drenched in sweat and to his horror, tears were streaming down his face. He was gasping as Potter reached out a hand to steady him.

“No—don’t—“ Draco didn’t want to be touched right now. Potter looked at him for a moment and left the room.

Draco ran shaking hands through his hair. The clock said it was five thirty—it wasn’t even time to wake up yet. _I even drove Potter away. Potter, who always moaned about the school and complained about his scar, was embarrassed about me_. How in the world was this going to work? He cluthced his stomach, trying not to vomit. He could still smell smoke and charring flesh, he could hear Vincent screaming—

The door opened and Potter walked back in, flicking his wand to light the lamp on Draco’s side. He was carrying a glass of water, which he held out to Draco. Draco glanced at it, not wanting to reveal to Potter how badly his hands were shaking. But he wanted to settle his stomach, so he took the water. “Thanks.” Harry nodded and sat on the end of Draco’s bed, looking out the window to give him some space. “Sorry I woke you up. You should probably cast a charm to block out the noise, I can’t do magic outside the classroom, otherwise I would.”

Harry looked at him strangely. “That’s not what I’m concerned about, Draco.”

Draco met his eyes and then shrugged.

“Did you know that St. Mungo’s has started hiring Mind Healers?” Harry spoke up after a moment. “I’ve been seeing one, I still do. It’s really been helping.”

“I’m not crazy, Potter. I didn’t spend years having delusions, or whatever you’ve claimed to have happen to you.” Draco couldn’t work up the energy to put enough malice in his voice.

“Merlin, Draco, can you just be normal for one second? I’m not going to tell anyone what happened. We’re going to be roommates and therefore I care about your safety.”

“You—what? Why?”

“Because you’re a human being! I have never wanted anything bad to happen to you. Well,” he smirked. “Anything _that_ bad, I wouldn’t have minded if you maybe fell off your broom a little more.” Draco felt the beginnings of a smile. “Anyway, you should go. But the only thing that actually helps is to talk about the nightmares. To get closure, to express feelings. I spent dozens of nights up with Ron this past summer, both of us had a lot to get through.”

“And—and they’re gone?”

“Well, they’re not gone. But they do happen a lot less often, and when they do, I can wake up, think about it for a bit, and then go back to bed pretty easily. If you don’t want to go see a Mind Healer that’s fine, but you should talk to someone about the nightmares.” Draco was silent. He wasn’t sure he had anyone to talk to. “If you don’t have anyone, you can talk to me.”

Draco scoffed. “Thanks very much Potter but I’m not going to give you that power.”

“There’s been enough talk of power in the past few years. You could have been the most powerful wizard in the world for a few months there and you didn’t even know it!”

“I still don’t really understand what you meant when you said that.”

“I’ll explain it to you some other time. Oh, also,” Harry walked over to his side of the room. “I do have this.” He rummaged through his trunk and held out Draco’s old wand. “I should have given it to you sometime this summer, I’m sorry.”

“I—I don’t want it. I have a new one, but thank you.” Potter looked confused. “I’ve done things with that wand that I never want to do again,” Draco said quietly.

Potter nodded and looked down at the wand. “Then you know what?” He held out his hand. “Break it.”

Draco’s head snapped up. He slowly took the wand from Potter’s outstretched hand, brushing his fingers up against Harry’s, and feeling something inside of him tingle.

Draco held the wand. He had tortured adults and children alike with this wand. He had performed the Imperius Curse with this wand. He was holding this wand when he was trying to work up the courage to kill his Headmaster. He held this wand through it all, but now he felt as though the wand had its grip on him.

He smiled, genuinely smiled for the first time in who knows how long when he heard the snap of wood breaking and magic dissipating. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco learns exactly what will be in store for him this year, and learns what his new flat mates think about him.

Chapter 5

After spending the better part of the night begging morning to come, the sun shone far too soon for Draco’s liking. Something inside of him lifted after he broke his own wand, and he was able to get a few hours of quiet sleep. Though he knew this was good for his body, his mind felt fuzzy and was pleading for more rest now that it had gotten a little taste. _I probably would feel better if I stayed up the whole night_, Draco lamented as his pulled on his clothes. Potter was already gone, and the clock told Draco that he overslept a little—it was a quarter past eight and Granger asked everyone to meet in the common room at eight on the dot. Having no time for a shower, he took a quick glance in the mirror to adjust his hair, not meeting his own eyes, and headed out into the world.

Everyone was gathered around the living space, mostly sorted by house. Blaise, Daphne, and Gregory sat at a table, talking softly. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws seemed somewhat intermingled, munching on breakfast pastries that someone must have brought or made. Hermione and Neville were sitting on a couch they had moved to the center, facing everyone, while Harry talked with the other Gryffindors on the floor in front of them. By a quick count, it seemed that Draco was the last one up. Potter nodded his head at Draco, who moved to sit at the table with the Slytherins.

“Rough night, mate?” Blaise drank some of his coffee.

“It wasn’t that bad, Potter and I didn’t really talk. I just had some trouble sleeping. Where’s the coffee?” Draco needed a pick-me up for the horrors that this meeting was bound to bring.

“Over there on the kitchen counter. Brewed the Muggle way by Granger. It’s not that bad though. There are some crumpets too, if you want.” Daphne looked a little tired, with her long black hair pulled back into braids not concealing the bags under her eyes. Goyle was silent beside her, not even looking at Draco.

Draco got up to pour himself a cup of coffee. Behind him, voices hushed as Granger got their attention.

“Hi everyone. Thank you so much for getting up early to come to this meeting, I promise it won’t take too long. As Professor McGonagall said, we aren’t getting our class schedules today, that’ll come tomorrow. She wasn’t sure about year sizes, so they’re still sorting out everything. But I thought today would be a good day anyway just to get used to being back in school.”

She nodded to Neville who started speaking, as though they had meticulously rehearsed this little presentation. “We’ve all been through a lot. Some of us were here last year and it was awful, some of us weren’t here last year and it was also awful. But we made it through the War, and a lot of people didn’t. This year is about honoring those people, and honoring ourselves by making sure it is as good a year as it can be.”

Draco’s head turned to Hermione as she bit her lip and continued. “I hope you all had a good night last night. I know living together is going to take some adjustment, but I think overall it will be a good thing. We need to get to know each other as people, not just as what the color of our insignias are. And it provides a great opportunity to work together on this project.”

“As you know, we are in charge of figuring out how to honor the fallen. Yes, both those who fought with the Order of the Phoenix and those who fought with the Death Eaters.” There were some displeased murmurs in the crowd at this statement, and Goyle tensed. “This will not be easy and will take a lot of discussion. But that’s why we have the whole year.”

“With that being said,”Granger continued. “We wanted to take today to publicize chances for healing. There’s going to be a group for eighth years that meets every Monday at seven. There’s one for each year, and it’s just an informal thing so that everyone can feel as though they aren’t alone. All of you are welcome.”

A Hufflepuff raised his hand. “Yes, Justin?” Hermione didn’t look as though she anticipated her presentation would get interrupted.

“How in the bloody hell are we supposed to heal in a group if _they’re_ welcome?” He pointed at the Slytherin table with malice in his eyes.

“They need to heal too, mate. All of us do,” Harry spoke up from the floor. “Trust me, I know as much as any—“

“No, Potter, you really don’t.” Justin turned to Draco, his eyes narrowed and fists clenched. “Do you know what this summer has been like for me? My sister can’t even drink a cup of tea without it spilling everywhere. She has permanent damage from you torturing her dozens of times! And yet you’re here while she’s in a long term program at Mungo’s learning how to write properly again. How can you live with yourself?” He stood, seeming ready to duel, and Draco put his hand in his robe pocket to grip his cold and unfamiliar wand.

Draco felt somewhat of a sick pleasure at Finch-Fletchley yelling at him. _Go on then, attack me_. Anger he understood. He wanted his body mangled, wanted it to reflect how he felt inside. Fighting would be a good opportunity to release some of his energy that bounced back and forth in his mind, unable to escape. Most disgusting was the fact that Draco wasn’t even quite sure what the Hufflepuff’s sister looked like. He tortured many Muggle-born students, and made a point of trying not to look at his victims. In order to cast the Cruciatus curse, Draco had to feel hatred in his heart, which he found impossible to do while gawking at crying kids. His hatred for the Dark Lord propelled him through the task, but he also had to be careful to protect his mind while doing it. It was not easy, and he would often return to the Slytherin dormitory to vomit and then immediately collapse into bed.

“Calm down,” Harry stood up as well, putting his hand on Justin’s arm, which was quickly wrenched away. “This is exactly what Hermione is talking about—our chance to heal. This would be a great thing to discuss at the group—“

“Let the Death Eater speak for himself, Harry,” Ernest Macmillan spoke up next to Justin. He was a blood traitor, and was therefore also on the receiving end of some Unforgivables last year. “Why the hell are you here anyway, Malfoy? Were you hoping to become Head Boy again so you could terrorize the school like last year?” Draco and Pansy Parkinson were Head Boy and Girl respectively under Professor Snape, but their duties became very different than what they normally would have been. Instead of providing guidance to new students and making sure everyone enjoyed themselves at Hogwarts, they patrolled the hallways at night, listening for conversations against the Dark Lord.

Everyone looked at Draco, expecting him to speak. His mouth felt dry. “I’m here because the Minister is making me. I didn’t want to come back to this ridiculous school. And I’m not going to your stupid group either.”

“Malfoy, this war didn’t change you a bit. You only care about yourself. You don’t want to make amends. You have nothing to say about my sister or all the other people whose lives you ruined.” Justin was shaking with rage as he rattled off accusations.

“Oi, you say you don’t want him to participate in the group and he just said he wouldn’t. What the hell do you want from him? It’s not his fault he can’t fix your loony sister.” Draco glared at Blaise as he said this last part. All gratitude Draco was starting to build for Blaise sticking up for him vanished when the inevitable happened.

“_Stupefy_!” Justin flung the spell in Blaise’s direction.

Blaise pulled out his hawthorn wand, not speaking but casting a Stinging Hex on Justin, whose nose began to swell.

“_Expelliarmus_!” Blaise’s wand flew out of his hand, and Justin’s followed it across the room soon after. Potter stood with his wand out. “This has to stop. I did not kill Voldemort only so we could fight each other. And I’m sure you all didn’t fight so things could end up back where we were either.” Justin, breathing heavily, reluctantly sat back down. Granger quickly attended to his nose with a flick of her wrist.

“Thank you, Harry,” Neville spoke up after the room returned to order. “This is what we’re talking about—the need for healing. That brings us to our next point.” He looked worriedly at Hermione, who continued after a brief pause.

“As some of you know, St. Mungo’s has started to put more of an emphasis on mental health. They’re partnering with Muggle-Born wizards to train mind healers, since the Muggles are far ahead of wizards on this sort of research.” Blaise rolled his eyes beside Draco. “Some of us already see these healers. I do.”

“I do also,” Harry spoke up, as did Neville and some others.

“It’s been really helpful. I think a lot of us have a condition called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The Muggles coined the term but really it’s applicable to Muggles and wizards alike. We’re all affected by traumatic things.”

“If you’re about to tell all of us we have a Muggle ailment, then I can’t take you seriously. Not that I could to begin with,” Blaise piped up again.

“Will you shut up Zabini?” Seamus said from where he was on the floor, holding Dean’s hand. “Yeah I’m sure you Death Eaters don’t have to worry about that since you were treated like royalty, but—“

“Call me a Death Eater one more time, Finnegan,” now Goyle had his wand out and was getting ready to rise from his seat, sending the room into commotion again. It was true that Greg wasn’t a Death Eater—Draco had been the only student who was marked. Vincent was the next closest, he even interacted with the Dark Lord once or twice.

“EVERYONE SHUT UP,” Potter yelled. “Alright, that’s it.” He grabbed a basket containing blankets from the ground and dumped its contents on the couch. “Wands in here. We can’t keep threatening each other.” Everyone looked very hesitant. “Come on, I’ll go first.” Potter dropped his wand into the basket and the Gryffindors soon followed. After a few moments, the rest of the students put their wands in the basket. Draco had no qualms about giving up his wand—it was useless to him as long as the manacle was on his wrist anyway.

Granger cleared her throat. “As I was saying, the Mind Healers can provide treatment for PTSD.”

“If there’s a cure, why can’t we just take it and be done with it?” Parvati spoke up from where she was sitting beside her twin sister.

“It’s not a cure, exactly. Mental ailments can’t be cured, but the effects can be reduced significantly. There are dozens of Muggle studies—“

“Not to agree with the Slytherins over there, but why should we trust Muggles? They don’t usually know anything,” Ernest piped up.

“Because a wizard mind and a Muggle mind are the same,” Neville argued. “There’s nothing different about how we think. We just have magic and they don’t.” Murmurs of displeasure scattered about the crowd. Draco heard Daphne scoff.

“Look, even if you’re skeptical, it doesn’t hurt to try it. It’s just about techniques to lessen anxiety and handle situations better. I know that we all have nightmares.” Hermione paused and looked around the room for arguments. Most had their heads down in shame, and Draco’s face burned as he studied his shoes. Granger took a deep breath. “Neville, Professor McGonagall, and myself have decided that you all are required to try at least three sessions.” She had her eyes closed, apparently worried about protests, but everyone was surprisingly silent. Pleasantly shocked, she opened her eyes and smiled. “Well—er, great! You all can sign up at Professor McGonagall’s office.”

“So that takes care of that,” Neville took over again. “Next on the agenda is dividing into groups to present project ideas by the holidays. In December we’ll hear presentations and vote as a group on which elements of which projects we want to incorporate into our final memorial. We’re going to let you guys pick groups as long as you have at least three different houses represented in your group. Everyone divide up, introduce yourselves, and discuss some preliminary ideas. We’ll work until lunch, and then everyone has the rest of the day to relax before our term starts tomorrow.”

As everyone started to pull people into their group, the Slytherins looked at each other in panic. _They’ll probably be fine, but I’m certainly not going to participate. They can’t make me do anything. They can’t make me talk to a “Mind Healer” and learn stupid Muggle treatments. My job is just to get through this year._ Draco decided to leave—no one would miss him. He got up just as Daphne was invited to join Granger’s group and Greg was invited to join Longbottom’s. He refilled his coffee cup and started to sneak back to his room.

“Draco.” Right behind him was Potter in his soft flannel, brows furrowed in concern. Draco’s heart raced. _Of course. Why can’t he just leave me alone?_ “Do you want to be in my group?”

“Potter, I don’t want to be in any group. I have better things to do than sit around and be criticized.”

“What exactly do you have to do?” Draco was not expecting Potter to ask this. Unfortunately he didn’t have a response prepared because he couldn’t think of a single thing to do. For once, he wished for a ton of homework. “Come on,” Potter grabbed his arm—Merlin’s balls he’s pushy—and nearly dragged him toward where he was sitting with Dean Thomas and Susan Bones.

Draco didn’t know much about either of them. Dean didn’t attend Hogwarts last year but eventually joined Luna Lovegood in the basement of Malfoy Manor. Draco remembered his piercing glares as he would bring down food to the prisoners. He also knew that Susan Bones had family that died earlier in the War. He felt sick looking at them. They seemed to feel similarly.

“Okay, so honoring everyone. Does anyone have any initial ideas?” Draco’s arm was still warm where Harry had grabbed it. He sat on his hands to keep them from shaking.

“I want to know what this business is about honoring our ‘heroes and villains.’ Do they expect us to honor He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” Dean was glaring at Draco the whole time he spoke.

“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s more like that we have to acknowledge the roles everyone played. Some students died that were on Voldemort’s side too.” Everyone, including Draco, flinched at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name. Draco felt Harry’s gaze but continued to look at the carpet.

“Oh, right. Crabbe. Almost forgot about that. I heard he was too stupid to control his spell and killed himself. Not a bad death for such a buffoon. Good riddance, too.” Dean’s voice was ice cold and Draco could tell he chose his words deliberately.

Draco’s nightmare started to come back to him. He closed his eyes but knew that he couldn’t prevent the oncoming attack. Eyes sweeping the living space, he realized that his body could not turn against him in this room, no way, not in front of all of these people. He knew going to his room would corner him. There was only one option.

“I don’t need this. Do your stupid little project without me.” Amidst Harry’s protests, he walked out of the eighth year dorm and welcomed the vastness of the castle. It made him feel as small on the outside as he did within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late! I hope to update every few days or so. The exposition is almost done—now we can get to the good stuff!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds out just how difficult a life can be without magic. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Blood, mention of suicide

Chapter 6

Draco tugged at the collar of his shirt, hoping that loosening it would ease some of the pressure he felt around his neck. He wasn’t quite sure where to go—the hallways were blissfully silent as the other students completed their first class of the year, but there was always a risk of being seen. He couldn’t rely on people just staying out of his way anymore. Last year he roamed these halls like a terrifying king. First years scrambled to get away from him, and he had actual permission to retrieve anything and everything he wanted by whatever means necessary. Though students were certainly frightened of him, he hadn’t felt menacing in the slightest. He wish the others knew that he was like them in a way—just trying to make it through the year without getting killed.

Draco’s feet led him somewhere unknown to his conscious as he was lost in thought. He suddenly found himself at the Astronomy Tower—somewhere he had not gone since that fateful night in his sixth year. He walked hesitantly to the open side, as if Professor Dumbledore were going to appear at any moment to offer him refuge. He found himself gripping his wand inside his pocket, and fear palpitated in his chest despite the absence of threat.

It was a gorgeous fall day at Hogwarts. He could see the lake where the giant squid lived, the water reflecting the clear blue sky. The temperature was mild with a slight wind, just enough for him to smell the ripening fruit on the trees. Draco stepped closer and closer to the edge.

The drop to the ground below looked more appealing than Draco wanted to admit. Then he thought of his mother, and took a step backward. She needed him and had done so much for him—he couldn’t let her down. He was horrified with himself for thinking about jumping for even a second. _You really are just a selfish prick_.

“You can’t jump, you know.” A singsong and sickly familiar voice sounded behind him, and Draco whirled around. Luna Lovegood was standing near the hallway, sporting bright purple glasses and a headband that seemed to be made of real bumblebees that were buzzing cheerfully around her head. She looked at him inquisitively as she shuffled her schoolbooks in her hand. “There’s a protective barrier. It sounds the alarm so Professor McGonagall will know.” Draco was silent and gaping as she met his eyes. “I helped develop it, of course. Mental health is so important. I don’t want anyone getting hurt or feeling like they don’t belong. Wrackspurts can drive people to do terrible things. ”

Draco cleared his throat and finally found his voice. “I—I wasn’t going to jump,” he stammered.

“That’s good,” she said, as though he were commenting on the weather. “Are you alright? You’ve got a red aura all around you, you have to be careful with that or you’ll attract—“

“I’m fine, Lovegood.” Draco began to move past her back down the hallway, but she stepped forward and met him in the center of the tower.

“I’m happy I ran into you up here, actually. I wanted to thank you.”

“You—what?”

“I wanted to thank you.” Luna spoke in the same even tone as though Draco had just not heard what she said rather than was baffled by it. “You treated me well when I was in your home. I appreciate that. Things would probably have been better for you if you acted like the others.”

Draco was frustrated by how often lately he had been speechless. “Lovegood, you shouldn’t be thanking me,” he finally said, looking down at his feet. “You were imprisoned in the dungeon. I’m—“ _Malfoys don’t apologize. But she was locked up for months! Surely, if anything warranted an apology..._

But it also wasn’t Draco’s fault that she was locked in the dungeon. _You didn’t do anything to stop it, though._ Draco looked around, waiting for his father’s gaze watching him reproachfully, making sure he didn’t misstep. The Astronomy Tower was blissfully empty, though. He knew he was taking a long time to respond, but Luna just smiled up at him, waiting patiently.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. I have to go.” Luna started to say something in response but Draco pushed past her and bolted for the nearest restroom.

Flickers of last year went through his mind as he ran around corners of the castle. He had been required to return to Malfoy Manor every weekend in order to help the Dark Lord and attend the Death Eater meetings. He remembered hearing her screams as she was tortured, refusing to give any sort of information on Potter’s whereabouts. Once he had remarked to his father that she probably had no clue where Potter was, and for that he earned a clubbing on the arm with Lucius’s cane.

The memory that was making his stomach turn now, though, was the fact that when he would go to the dungeon to bring the prisoners just enough bread and water to keep them alive, Luna always said hello to him. She would remark that he wasn’t looking well, and that everything was going to be okay. The other prisoners would often glare at him, move away in fear, or shout obscenities in his direction, but never Luna. A small solace for him was that he never had to torture her specifically.

And now, she was still showing him kindness. Even her suffering at the hands of his family did not break her spirit. _So what’s your excuse_? Draco thought after he was finished vomiting. He washed his face and rinsed his mouth out, unsure of what to do next. He was looking at himself in the mirror and contemplating his next move when he heard a cacophony of voices in the hallway. He cursed as he realized it was eleven, and the first period of classes was over.

Right on cue, a pair of third, maybe fourth years walked into the bathroom, chatting happily. They were old enough to know exactly who he was and they gasped as they saw Draco’s face in the mirror. One of them glared and took out his wand.

“Death Eater scum. Not so brave now that your master’s gone are you?” Draco didn’t recognize the dark-haired boy even when he spun around to take a closer look.

“Ahh...” the Ravenclaw gave a humorless laugh and smirk. “You don’t remember me, do you? Don’t remember torturing me for nearly half an hour?” His voice quieted as he took a step forward. “Maybe I should do the same to you...”

“Caden, I don’t think—“

“What? You don’t think he deserves it?” Caden turned to his companion who looked hesitant at the confrontation. “He tortured you, too!”

Draco wasn’t going to stick around to hear the end of this argument. “Out of my way,” he said quietly, and began to move past them. He wasn’t scared of the two young Ravenclaws exactly—he had been tortured many times before. But he knew that he wasn’t able to defend himself, and didn’t want to slink back to his Slytherin barely-friends injured or weakened.

“_Diffindo_!” Draco let out a hiss of pain as the skin on his right arm split open. He put his hand on the wound and pushed past the two students. The hallways were extremely crowded and he was far from his dormitory. The chaos mostly covered him, but he was quite tall and caught some students’ eye. They gawked, glared, yelled at him, and a few even tripped him as he was rushing to get back to the dormitory. Blood started to drip on the floor—as much as he didn’t want to go back to his quarters, he needed to find Blaise or Daphne so they could heal his arm.

Finally he reached the door, holding his arm close to his chest to open the door with his sticky hand. He burst through, expecting to find bustling crowds of students, but the common area was bare. _Shit, they must have gone to lunch_. Just to check, Draco knocked on Blaise, Daphne, and even Gregory’s door, but no one answered. He looked down at his shaking arm—there wasn’t a dry spot on his sleeve to be found.

He ran into the bathroom that he and Harry shared with Neville and Greg. He ran his arm under the warm water, but the blood kept coming. The healing spell for something like this was quite easy, but Draco could threaten his probation if he cast even a simple charm. He wasn’t even sure if the manacle on his wrist would allow him to do so. But the wound wouldn’t stop bleeding until the spell was cast. _Unless_—

Draco tore through the cabinets of the bathroom, looking for Dittany, a Bezoar, Essence of Murlap, any potion or item that might stem the bleeding. He couldn’t find anything useful, and now blood was everywhere on the counter. Panic rose up inside `of him, even though he knew that a fast heart rate was not going to help the situation.

He could go to the Hospital Wing even though the idea of walking that far unattended nearly made him sick. If he got this nasty cut just in the loo, who knows what would happen to him in open air on Hogwarts grounds. Draco tried to think of any other option, but came up with none. He used his towel to wipe up the mess in the bathroom as best he could and used a second one to wrap around his arm—he would have Blaise clean them later.

Draco pushed open the bathroom door and stepped unsteadily into the still empty living room. The world tilted beneath his feet and he stumbled, hitting his side on a table. He sank to the floor, feeling nauseous. There was no way he could make it to the Hospital Wing—he had lost too much blood to make it down five flights of stairs.

He laughed to himself, feeling woozy and almost giddy. _So this is how I’m going to die. I made it through having the Dark Lord in my home for a year, I made it through the Battle of Hogwarts, and I’m going to die right here on the floor because of a gash that would take two seconds to heal with magic._ It was extremely fitting to him. A Malfoy dying not a heroic death, not even a notorious death of a villain, but a completely avoidable, mediocre death.

He found it amusing until he realized that people would likely think he tried to off himself. _Would they remember that I couldn’t use magic? Would that Ravenclaw be proud that he killed me and tell everyone what really happened?_ His stomach fell as he pictured his mother’s face. Narcissa would think he abandoned her—how would she go on? She told him many times in his summer illness that he was the most important thing in her life. Eyes filling with tears, Draco made an attempt to stand. The least he could do would be to die privately in his room. He also wanted to scribble a quick note that he did not kill himself and that he loved his mother very much.

Crawling on three limbs, his injured arm pressed to his chest, in an attempt to avoid falling again, Draco made it to his room. With a very unsteady left hand he scribbled out what he hoped was a legible death-not-suicide note, and he drew the curtains around his bed. He rested his head on his pillow and let go of his right arm, feeling both mortified and incredibly relieved.

“Draco? Malfoy, are you in here? Malfoy, I’m coming in, okay?” Draco opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. He was just falling asleep—who was waking him up and what did they want?

“Oh Merlin. Draco, it’s okay. Hermione is here, she’s better at healing spells than I am. She’s going to heal you and then we’re going to walk to the Hospital Wing, alright?”

“Harry, I can’t even tell where it’s coming from.” The pool that Draco was lying comfortably in suddenly vanished, and he shook harder with the chill that its absence brought. “Ah, it’s coming from his arm. Shouldn’t be too difficult. _Episky_!” Draco felt a sharp pain and then relief. He still had no idea what was happening.

“Malfoy,” the same female voice said again. “Malfoy can you hear me? I need you to open your eyes.” Thinking of his mother, Draco reluctantly obliged, and nearly vomited from the dizziness as Granger’s face swam before him.

“Draco, why did you do this?” Draco turned his head to see Potter, his hair pressed to his forehead from sweat, glaring at him.

“I didn’t...” Draco gestured feebly at the desk beside the bed. Potter picked up the note that he wrote.

“Someone else did this to you? Why didn’t you just heal it?”

“Can’t use magic.” Draco couldn’t even begin to process the fact that both Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were in his bedroom right now, the fact that once again, Potter had saved his life. He closed his eyes again.

“No Malfoy, we have to go to the Hospital Wing. You lost a lot of blood. You’ll be just fine, but you need the right potion—“

“No, lemme sleep...” Draco interrupted Hermione and turned over on his side. “Don’t wanna walk...I don’t want to go out, be attacked ‘gain,” he mumbled.

“Hermione, does he really need the potion? Won’t his body replenish the blood on its own?”

“I mean yes, but it will take probably a day or two before he feels back to normal. I could give him some sugary drinks, that’ll help.”

A few more minutes passed—Draco must have fallen asleep again. He woke up to Granger shoving something into his hands and Potter hoisting him into a sitting position. “You have to drink this, Malfoy. It’ll help you feel better.”

Draco was surprised to find the liquid delicious—it was hot chocolate with a lot of sugar. He felt a little more energized, and his world stabilized a little as he looked at Harry. He couldn’t meet Hermione’s eyes. “How in the world did you find me?”

“Luna actually came to find us in the Great Hall,” Harry said, sitting on the edge of Draco’s bed. “She said that...she ran into you at the Astronomy Tower.” Harry paused, and Hermione looked down. “She told us you didn’t seem to be doing...too well. I decided to head back to the room to grab something and see where you were and Hermione came with me. We saw the blood trail in the hallway.” _Dammit_.

Draco swallowed another sip of the hot chocolate. “Well, thanks. I’m fine now. So you can go.” He looked down at his still trembling hands.

“Draco, you should tell Professor McGonagall who did this to you. Or tell us, we can—“

“Potter, you have a severe problem of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Just go away.”

“How can you say that to him?” Hermione was furious. “He just saved your life and you’re being rude to him!”

“I never asked him to save my life,” Draco fired back.

Hermione stood up. “Sometimes people are just nice to be nice, Malfoy. There are only so many chances you get before people just stop caring. If you want to continue hiding behind this attitude like a coward, that’s your business. Harry convinced me to give you a chance this year, but you’re just the same rude prick, Death Eater or not.” She slammed the door behind her.

Draco and Harry were silent for a few moments. Draco’s blood was boiling under the surface—he felt both a rush from making her angry and guilt for his reflexive anger. He glared at Potter. “Why are you still here?”

Harry looked at him. “I know you’re not the same. You’re still a rude prick, but...you’re not like how you were on the train sixth year.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” Draco said in a cool, even tone.

“Did you get in trouble?” Harry said very abruptly, as though the words forced themselves out of him at their own accord. “When you said you didn’t recognize me?”

Draco felt like his heart stopped. Flashes of that day rushed through his mind—

“Sorry. You must be tired. Just rest. I’ll be in the common room if you need anything.” Harry walked out the door, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts as both his body and mind tried to compensate for what he lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your lovely comments! They help me continue writing. Let me know if you want to see anything in particular!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco’s first day back at school comes with a return to Defense Against the Dark Arts, and a disturbing new project...

**Chapter 7**

Draco heard the trunk across from him slam shut and jerked awake with a groan. He sat up slowly and saw Potter grinning at him sheepishly. “Sorry about that, it slipped.”

“Yeah, sure it did. Potter, choosing whether to share a room with you or an elephant would be a hard decision indeed, but I certainly don’t deserve to room with both.” Draco rubbed his eyes, trying to work up some energy.

“You’re almost late anyway. Professor McGonagall wanted us in the Great Hall at 8am to get our class schedules. How are you feeling?”

Draco was about to snap at Potter for asking that but figured it was not an absurd question. Potter had saved his life yesterday, after all. Draco was both grateful and angry, but too tired to start a fight. After Harry left him alone yesterday afternoon, Draco finished his hot chocolate and went back to sleep. Blaise, Daphne, and Gregory came bursting into his room a few hours later.

“Draco, I’m so glad you’re okay!” Daphne wasn’t as emotional as Pansy had been, but she certainly seemed genuinely concerned.

“Yeah mate, we heard you got attacked. They have to let you use magic now, right?” Blaise glanced at the manacle on Draco’s wrist.

“Who’s ‘they’? No one is going to know about this, got it?” Draco glared at the three of them. “It’s embarrassing enough.”

“Draco, Potter told us you almost _died_ from a simple wound. And it was your first time out of the castle, too. How in the world are you going to make it through the year?” _A great question,_ Draco thought to himself sarcastically as Daphne sat on the end of his bed.

“You at least shouldn’t walk around here alone,” Blaise said decidedly. “Not until things settle down a little. Who was the prick that attacked you anyway, Looney Lovegood?”

“No,” Draco said, a little more sharply than he intended. “No, just some Ravenclaw. Caden, was his name. I don’t even remember him but he said that he was one of the ones that I...you know.” All of the Slytherins nodded morosely.

“Anyway, we brought you some cookies and a sandwich. Granger said that sugar can help you body replenish blood faster, and we figured you hadn’t eaten all day.” Daphne held out the plate.

“Thanks,” Draco said, and he meant it. He actually was starving, but he knew to take it easy lest he end up in the same situation as just a few hours ago.

Draco had spent the rest of the day dozing off and on and chatting with Blaise, Daphne, and even Gregory, all three of whom stuck around in his bedroom. Harry was gracious enough to leave the three of them alone until late at night. Shockingly, Draco hadn’t any nightmares—it seems his body was too worn out for his mind to take over.

Morning certainly came with a vengeance, though. Still recovering from his one excursion outside this dormitory, Draco now had a full day of classes to worry about. “I’m fine, Potter,” he responded curtly, and moved to get ready for the day. His answer wasn’t one hundred percent accurate—he honestly still felt quite dizzy and anxious about the day ahead. It sunk into him later yesterday evening that he truly had almost died from something as small as that. He had no means of defending himself, and now he had to view everything and everyone as a threat.

Harry looked at Draco like he doubted him, but continued to gather his things and didn’t mention anything. “Glad to hear it. I’m planning on talking to Kingsley about this magic-blocking band of yours.”

“What?” Draco stopped pulling on his robes, his heart racing.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister?” _Potter is so dense, as if that’s what I was asking about_. “I’m going to explain to him what happened. You have to have some way to defend yourself. I figure maybe they can allow you to perform simple charms, or something like that—“

“Potter, you cannot tell anyone what happened. I’m serious.” Draco’s tone wasn’t so much angry, but pleading.

Harry looked confused. “Why not? You almost died, Draco, and everyone deserves the right to defend themselves—“

“My family already got off really easy, under the circumstances. Drawing any attention to ourselves is not a good thing.” Draco was reminded of his father’s warning to not cause any problems. “Don’t worry, Potter, I’ll order in for some healing potions and the like.” Draco couldn’t believe that Potter was this concerned about him.

Putting his hand on the doorknob, Harry turned to face Draco. “We’ll see.” And with that he walked out the door.

Draco sighed in frustration and finished gathering his things. He took a moment to sit on the bed and catch his breath, steadying himself against the post. It was going to be a long day.

Thankfully his friends—_am I confident that I can call them that?_—were waiting for him, and they all walked to the Great Hall together. Draco was grateful that his friends took up a slow pace for him, and was even more grateful that the walk was mostly downstairs. There was so much hustle and bustle that no one seemed to pay the group much mind. And, after all, four individuals were certainly more formidable opponents than Draco by himself. They managed to make it to the Great Hall without trouble.

Draco put some food on his plate—a good amount since his body was still recovering—as Professor McGonagall passed out their class schedules. It did appear that the eighth years were not sharing classes with any of the seventh years, and Draco was secretly relieved. Many of the seventh-years were members of Dumbledore’s Army, like the little Weasley girl, and he was sure that they hated him profusely.

Potions was being taught by Slughorn again, Transfiguration by McGonagall, Care of Magical Creatures (which he was not taking) by Hagrid, Charms by Flitwick...one of the only differences was in Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was now being taught by someone named Professor Arden. He recognized his name in the back of his head from his trials at the Wizengamot. The name evoked an anxious reaction in his soul, but he vaguely remembered her questioning to not be as brutal as the others. It wasn’t listed on his schedule, but Draco also couldn’t help but thing of Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies Professor that he watched—_don’t think about that. It’s not your problem, not at all._

“Back to Defense Against the Dark Arts I see,” Blaise said next to him. The previous year it had just been called “Dark Arts.” “Let’s see if Arden can make it past a year.”

That was, in fact, their first class of the day. Draco hesitantly entered the room in which he had practiced Unforgivable Curses the year before. He could nearly see the blood on the floor from those who had refused to do their homework in protest of the brutality. His heart rate increased, and he regretted eating such a big breakfast. However, to his relief, the classroom looked nothing like it did in the days of the Dark Arts. The chairs were arranged by pairs in a circular formulation with the Professor’s desk at the front of the room. Standing in front of the desk was a lithe, middle-aged woman wearing a beaming expression.

“Welcome eighth-years! It’s so good to see you all. I’ve been told that you all are rooming in pairs—please sit with your roommate and we can get started.”

Most of the room groaned at the realization that their relationship with their roommates did not end in the dormitory. However, Draco found that he was a little relieved. He and Potter have been able to get along quite well over the past day, and at least Draco knew that he was safe with Potter. _I bet any one of these other eighth-years would love an excuse to curse me._

Draco saw Harry settled in a chair and sat next to him. Most of the pairs appeared to have a third party sitting in the middle, repelling each person away from each other. Draco sat normally and saw that Harry’s feet were pointed toward him.

“Good morning! My name is Professor Arden. I’m going to be your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I hope I can provide some much-needed stability to this position. I was an Auror during the First Wizarding War, and up until the takeover of the Ministry I served in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Once the Ministry was taken over, I fled with my children. I’m a proud Muggle-Born, and I was hoping to continue the fight from abroad. I’m extremely happy to have accepted this position.

“I’ve heard of a certain ‘Dumbledore’s Army’ that existed starting three years ago,” she smiled at Harry. “That’s why I almost feel unequipped to teach you all. It seems that you have much more you could teach me. This will be our first project, and it will last the greater part of the term. You will pick one skill to use against dark spells or intentions, and learn it inside and out. Learn its weaknesses, its strengths, and most importantly, how to use it in many situations. Then you are to teach the class this skill. Your grade will not just depend on how well you can perform the skill, but how well your peers can by the end of your teachings.

“We will start out with these smaller pairs so that you can find out what works as a lesson plan and what does not. Today, discuss spells or other types of magic that each of you are good at. You must pick different skills and get my approval. Then you are free to go and begin your research together. This room will be open for practicing during your regularly scheduled class period. You must turn in progress reports to me every week. We will start our first demonstrations at the end of October. Any questions?” People were already murmuring excitedly to each other. “Feel free to come talk to me if anything comes up. And, begin!”

Draco swallowed uncomfortably. _What am I good at?_

Next to him, Potter looked contemplative. “It’s so hard to choose something.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, Potter, we all know that you’re so incredibly good at everything under the sun. Good for you. Just pick something and let’s move on with it.”

Potter looked regretfully at him. “No, that’s not what I mean at all! Actually, quite the opposite.” He sighed. “So many people think that I just know everything. It wasn’t even my idea to start Dumbledore’s Army—it was Hermione’s. And then she was just telling me how great of a teacher I’d be because of what I’d gone through and what I’d done. I told everyone at the time, that was all mostly luck.” He smiled to himself. “Later on, I actually got accused by a lot of adults of only being able to cast the Expelliarmus charm. But that’s not really something to teach an advanced class.”

“No, I reckon not,” Draco said. He was surprised by how humble Harry was. “You’ve got to be good at something else though, you made it this far.”

“Well...I guess I’m pretty good at producing a Patronus. And I managed to teach loads of friends during fifth year.” Draco’s blood ran cold. Of course he wouldn’t be able to cast a Patronus. He had been told that no Death Eater could, including his own father. And, as if right on cue, Potter looked toward him. “Have you ever produced one?”

Draco glared at Potter. “Of course not Potter, how dense can you be?”

“What are you on about?” Potter didn’t look angry, just confused.

“Why do I have to spell everything out for you? Clearly your survival hasn’t depended on intelligence,” Draco sneered. When Potter just waited for him to respond, he said “Death Eaters can’t produce a Patronus” through gritted teeth.

Potter leaned back in his chair. “Boy do I have good news for you. They absolutely can. I saw Professor Snape produce one.” Draco fixed his attention on Potter at the mention of his departed mentor’s name. “Then it’s settled, I’ll teach you how to produce a Patronus charm. What about you, what are you good at?”

Draco was legitimately about to snap back his usual “None of your business, Potter,” but thanks to this new professor it was entirely Harry’s business. He sighed and ran his hand along the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I’m decent at a lot of things, not sure if I’m particularly good at anything.”

“Wait, you’re good at Occlumency, right?” Potter looked a little sheepish after he said this.

“How the bloody hell do you know that?”

“I—er,” Potter sighed. “I overheard you once, after Slughorn’s party. Talking to Snape, and he was trying to look into your mind.” Draco was enraged as he remembered that night. _How dare Potter eavesdrop on a private conversation. If he heard that, what else did he hear?_

“I always wondered if being an orphan made you deficient in some way, and clearly it did since you never had parents around to teach you manners—“

Harry put his hand on Draco’s left arm, which tingled where his scar remained from the Mark. He gripped it tightly and spoke in an even tone. “Don’t go there, Malfoy. Don’t.” Draco was confused at his sudden disappointment when Potter used his last name. “Look, I’m sorry for snooping, but I thought you were up to something since you were acting so weird. And, well...” he trailed off. Both men looked at their feet for a long time.

“Fine,” Draco broke the silence. “Occlumency it is.” Anything to shut Potter up before he opened a door he didn’t walk to walk through.

Draco figured he was particularly good at Occlumency because of the way he organized his emotions. When he was younger and faced difficult situations, like rejection by Potter in his first year, he would lie in bed at night and close his eyes. He pictured a long hallway similar to the ones he found in the Manor, but with different colored doors. Brighter doors were for his good emotions—happiness, excitement, and joy. His father always told him that those emotions should be moderated as well. “No one likes someone who never takes things seriously, Draco,” he would say. “If you’re giggling like an idiot all the time, stumbling through the world without a care for real problems, you’re never going to succeed.” So when something really good happened, Draco stored it in the room with the light green door, like pets waiting for him after a long and dreary day.

The more negative emotions had multiple doors. Frustration, fear, anger, pain—at the end of the day he would sort through events and compartmentalize those feelings. It allowed him to access any emotion when necessary. To insult Potter, he just needed to open the red anger door, just a pinch. In his darkest days at the Manor, he spent his time looking out the window and strolling through the rooms of his pleasant memories.

Everything was fine when he was the one walking down the hallway, able to open and close doors at will. Problems only arose when someone else tried to get in. And with Potter as a roommate, even the past twenty-four hours, Draco felt like Harry was flinging open doors left and right without a care in the world. Draco wasn’t sure how much longer he could pick up the spilled contents and put them back without one or two emotions or memories escaping for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m SO sorry this is late! I literally got held up trying to think of who in the world would teach DADA after the war. Everyone is dead! So I had to make an OC which I’m not a fan of. Luckily they’re just a plot device. Hope to have the next chapter out in a few days! As always, your comments are lovely and help me keep going


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has an emotionally taxing evening, but comes out of it better than he has been in a while.

Chapter 8

The rest of the morning was blissfully uneventful for Draco, but still incredibly exhausting. He had Transfiguration after Defense Against the Dark Arts which went poorly. Professor McGonagall disabled his manacle so he could practice spells, but he was awkward and clumsy with the wand and ending up turning his peach into a rooster instead of a dove. He could definitely tell that many of the other eighth years were snickering behind his back as he dove to catch the bird to shut it up. Professor McGonagall had to help him for nearly the entire period while everyone else moved on to turning a cucumber into a pigeon.

Granger came up to him at the end of Transfiguration and reminded him to keep drinking and eating sugary things so that his blood supply would replenish. He only managed a nod. Looking at her used to spark deep anger in him, as she was a Muggle-Born who consistently beat him in classes, but now he could only picture her lying on the floor in the Manor being tortured by his aunt. He had never discussed it with anyone, not even his friends, because he was worried what they would say. He didn’t think anyone deserved that, even a mud—it was too hard to even think of that word anymore.

He and his friends gathered their things and exited the classroom. “I think I’m going to have a lie-down,” Draco said.

“What about lunch?” Daphne was already turned toward the Great Hall.

“Eh, I’m not that hungry—“

“Hello!” They all jumped and turned to find Luna Lovegood staring at Draco. Blaise stepped in front of him protectively.

“What do you want, Looney?” Blaise was aware that Luna had been imprisoned in the Manor for the better part of last year. He probably thought that she was going to try and hex Draco. Draco felt a sudden rush of affection for his distant friend—_He really does care about me..._

“Oh, hello Blaise. Draco and I never finished our conversation the other day, and I want to make sure that he knows I accept his apology.”

“What apology? What does he have to apologize—“

“Blaise, it’s okay,” Draco put his hand on Blaise’s arm, not roughly as he used to do when Vincent and Gregory weren’t doing what he wanted, but enough to tell the Slytherin to back off. Blaise stepped aside, and Draco was face to face with Luna. He noticed that she looked a lot better than she did in his home. Her face had some color to it and was more full. Her eyes were always vibrant, even in captivity, but she looked more happy than he remembered. He wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Thanks, Lovegood.”

He hoped the conversation would end there. “Of course, Draco! I’m so glad you’re deciding to be a better person. I always knew you had some good in you—everyone does, after all. You should take better care of yourself though, you look peaky—“

“We’ll be going now,” Daphne said discreetly, taking Draco’s arm and steering him toward the Great Hall. Draco really did want to take a nap, but he also wanted to get away from Luna.

“What the hell was that about?” Blaise asked incredulously. “When did you and Lovegood talk?”

Draco was silent for a few steps. “I just ran into her, after I went out to get some air yesterday.”

“And she forced an apology out of you? Are you sure she wasn’t the one that attacked you?” Blaise’s eyes narrowed. Gregory kept his head down.

“No, do you really think she’d attack anyone? She didn’t force me to do anything. I just—I mean,” Draco felt sick. _Is he going to write to my father? Is he going to ditch me after this, think I’m weak?_ Gregory was now meeting Draco’s gaze with hope in his eyes. “She was imprisoned in my home, Blaise. I’m sure that wasn’t a pleasant time.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t your fault. You have nothing to apologize for.” Blaise looked straight ahead, gritting his teeth.

“I’m sure I could have done something, I—“

“No, not without getting yourself killed, or your entire family killed! Don’t kid yourself, Draco, everyone seems to think that we’re a lot more powerful than we actually are. We couldn’t have changed anything, we only could have made it worse—“ Blaise was nearly yelling now and people were starting to stare.

Daphne grabbed Blaise’s arm and steered him into the nearest empty classroom. Draco and Greg followed. She shoved Blaise into a seat and slammed the door. “Alright,” she said much more gently than she treated the classroom furniture. “What’s the matter?”

“What do you mean what’s the matter?”

“Blaise, you were making a scene.” She took a deep breath. “We all need to learn how to be here for each other. We’re all each other has. Draco, if you had talked to one of us instead of running out yesterday, you may not have gotten attacked. I know we’ve never been a bunch to talk about our feelings, even last year, but I think we’ve reached a breaking point.”

Everyone was silent for a moment. Then Greg spoke up. “I agree with Daphne. I’m—I actually signed up with McGonagall yesterday to see one of those Mind Healer people. I don’t want to feel this way anymore.” It was more than he had said in the past day, and Draco’s head perked up in surprise. Greg met Draco’s gaze with a small smile and shrug. “What harm could it do?”

“Exactly. So, what’s going on?” Daphne turned her attention to Blaise again.

“I just...” Blaise pulled lightly at his hair. “Draco definitely had it the worst out of us, no question about it.” Draco opened his mouth to respond but Blaise continued. “No, it’s fine to admit it. Your situation was the most helpless. So if you have to apologize for not only what you did, but what you didn’t do? Where does that leave us? We all tortured people. Are we supposed to face them and just—apologize for it? What’s so wrong about not wanting to get tortured yourself?”

Draco sighed and sat down heavily. “It’s not so much about that, I’m not sure Lovegood wouldn’t have expected or wanted me to do anything. I’m not even sure it would have helped. I think it’s just...how we’ve treated people in the past, you know? We all called her Looney, and she is a little out there, but it was all fun and games until she was literally imprisoned. I just—“ Draco wanted to stop before he opened too many of his doors and was too vulnerable. “Nevermind. It was a stupid thing I did.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Gregory Goyle stood up and sat next to Draco. “You’re an actual human being, I don’t know if you know that, but you are. I saw you wither away these past two years on the inside but become even more of a prick on the outside to compensate. It’s nice to know that you actually have a heart.”

Draco was somehow both comforted and hurt by what Greg said. “Wow, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you talk seriously for that long in your life,” he said somewhat jokingly.

Greg gave him a sad smile. “You never really let me, mate,” he said gently. “But now is the time to start fresh, at least with each other.”

“We were talking about this the other day,” Daphne chimed in. “I know it wasn’t ever the four of us that were close, but we don’t have much of a choice now. If we can’t be honest with each other about this stuff, we’re all going to explode before the end of the year.” Greg and Draco nodded, then the three turned to Blaise. He was generally the most guarded of them all, and the quickest to judge those who showed weakness.

He sighed. “Fine, I guess you’re right. We need to be a team.” He looked back at Draco. “I kind of understand what you’re saying. It’s just really overwhelming sometimes, you know? How much we did...”

“I know,” Daphne said softly. “We can just start small, though. Like Draco did. I’m really proud of you for apologizing to Lovegood, by the way,” Daphne said. “It’ll make you feel better too.”

Draco nodded. “Alright,” Blaise put his hands on his knees. “Let’s get some lunch. And yes, you’re coming, Draco.”

Before gathering his things and reluctantly following, Draco motioned for Greg to hang back for a second. Blaise looked like he wanted to protest but Daphne took his arm and steered him toward the Great Hall. Soon it was just Greg and Draco in the classroom.

“I—I know I have a lot to apologize for,” Draco started, feeling very small. “Years of stuff...”

“Just start small,” Gregory echoed what Daphne had said earlier.

Draco was silent for a few minutes, and he itched his left arm. “I’m sorry for not writing you this summer. I should have at least done that,” he finally said.

Greg clapped him on the shoulder. “Apology accepted, mate. Let’s go eat.”

The Slytherins finally made it into the common room. They had made it through their afternoon classes and then hid in the library before making their way to dinner right before it ended. They all only wanted to be around each other, and since Draco and Greg both struggled with eating as it was, wanted to wait until the Hall was mostly empty.

Draco was exhausted after actually eating three meals in a day and desperate for some peace and quiet. However, the shared space was bustling with happy chatter and clinking glasses. Some students quieted down and stared when the Slytherins entered.

Granger gave a friendly smile and got up from where she was sitting playing Gobstones. “Hey guys! McGonagall agreed to let us have a small celebration, since we’re of age and all. We’ve got about a half bottle of Firewhisky left, if you’re interested.”

“Hell yes, we’re interested,” Blaise pushed past the group and poured himself a small glass. “You guys want some?” Blaise handed them some cups filled to the brim before they could say yes or no. Daphne and Gregory drank it gratefully, wincing when it burned down their throat. Draco looked at his cup. He had drank at the Manor when he could get away with it to try and numb some of the pain of what he was seeing. Drinking for enjoyment though? That was something he’d never done. He downed the liquid in just a few gulps, and poured himself another glass.

“Woah, easy there Malfoy. Just because your father is a failure doesn’t mean you have to take it out on yourself,” The atmosphere cooled significantly after Dean Thomas spoke, everyone quieting down if they hadn’t already. Draco found himself looking around for Potter, but he was nowhere to be found. “Maybe that’s not the reason you’re doing it though. Maybe you’re doing it so that you can find the strength to be around so many Mudbloods, eh?” Many winced at the sarcastic use of the slur, and Draco had to work hard to keep his face unbothered and even. Dean staggered over to Draco and continued as everyone else watched. “I wasn’t imprisoned at your house for long, Malfoy, but I was there long enough to see what a coward you really are.”

“That’s enough,” Granger said, face flushed partially from anger and partially from drink. “Now isn’t the time or place to talk about any of that.” She looked around the room. “Keep talking everyone, there’s nothing to see here.” Slowly the atmosphere in the room returned to normal as Hermione stepped between Dean and Draco. “Come on, Dean, let’s go play the next round of Exploding Snap.” She steered Dean away from Draco, who stood paralyzed.

“You alright, mate?” Gregory put a hand on Draco’s shoulder and he flinched. Draco downed the rest of his drink.

“Yeah, fine. Think I’m gonna turn in though. Long day.” Without saying much else, Draco went to his bedroom and sat heavily on the bed. He wasn’t quite drunk enough not to feel any of the sting of Dean’s words, but he felt a little more relaxed than he knew he would have without the Firewhisky.

He couldn’t believe that was only one day of school. It felt like the entire summer combined. All in all though, it could have been much worse. He’d take glares and snide remarks any day over even the best of times last year.

Draco was lost in thought for a little while when Potter suddenly burst in the room, shutting the door clearly behind him. He started to fling out some pajamas. Draco looked at the clock—it was only eleven. “What’s got your panties in a bunch, Potter?”

Potter stopped ruffling his clothing and gave a deep sigh. Draco suddenly felt a little guilty for being that harsh right off the bat. Maybe something truly awful had happened. “Potter.” He said, less as a question and more of a command to look at him. Potter’s eyes were red rimmed and tired. “What happened?”

Harry sighed again and sat on the end of his bed, facing Draco. “I broke up with Ginny.”

Draco’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t even know that was still a thing.”

“Well, it wasn’t last year. Not when I was on the run.” Now that he mentioned it, Draco realized there was so much he didn’t know about what Potter spent the past year doing. Defeating the Dark Lord, certainly, but what did being away for a year do? Why didn’t Potter just storm Malfoy Manor and kill him right off the bat? Draco shook his head to clear his mind and returned his focus to his morose nemesis.

“Okay. So why did you break up with her?”

“It just...didn’t feel right. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if it’s my PTSD—“ Draco recalled the Muggle illness that Granger had mentioned. “—or if I’m just tired of conflict or if I just don’t even like her, but every time we would hang out I wish we were just friends.”

Draco was silent, thinking of what to say. Potter was his nemesis, but he couldn’t really think of an insult for that logical of an argument. And he wasn’t sure that he wanted to start an argument with Potter. After all, no one was around. Couldn’t he be himself? _But what does that even mean? What do I say to something like this?_ It was then that Draco realized how little his friends actually asked him for advice. “It seems like you made the right decision.”

“I just hope we can still be friends. People always say that but it rarely actually happens. And I do genuinely _like_ her, she’s strong, she’s funny...I just don’t want to be with her. And I don’t know why. Did you—“ Potter abruptly cut off the beginning of his question in favor of looking down at his feet. “Nevermind.”

“Potter, you could ask me anything you want and there’s nothing I would be able to do about it. I quite literally can’t hurt you, remember?” Draco held up his manacled arm.

“Well I don’t want to...take advantage of that! But I was just wondering, how did things end up with you and Parkinson?”

“Pansy? We were never together.”

Potter looked very surprised. “Really? You guys went to the Yule Ball together, and...” he looked sheepish. “You laid in her lap on the train to Hogwarts sixth year.”

“Well, yeah, we were close friends. Our parents were in the middle of deciding on a betrothal contract. But that doesn’t mean we were together.”

“You would have been though? If the contract had gone through?”

“No, do you know nothing about Wizarding culture, Potter?” Draco gave an annoyed sigh. “Marriage contracts rarely have anything to do with attraction. Sure, it works out for some couples, like my parents. But as long as they produce an heir, both parties are allowed to do whatever they want in privacy.”

“Oh. That’s...nice I guess?” Draco was silent as Potter mulled this over. “Have you ever dated anyone?”

“No. I’m into blokes, just not these blokes,” Draco gestured to the door.

“Oh! Really? That’s...fantastic! I didn’t know that, er...I didn’t know that was...” Potter searched for the right word. “I mean, do your parents know?”

“I have no idea,” Draco replied. Harry’s mention of his parents pulled at his heartstrings. “It doesn’t really matter to them as long as I produce an heir, so I’m not sure why they would care.”

“Oh,” Harry said for the third time in a row. “Sometimes...sometimes I think I might be into blokes a bit too. But also girls. It’s just complicated. And I’ve always sort of had bigger things to worry about, you know?” He laughed, and Draco felt a smile turning the corners of his mouth.

“Well, enjoy having these problems, I suppose. Guys, girls, I’m sure whoever and whatever would line up for a chance to date the Boy Who Lived.”

“Psh. I’d prefer someone who didn’t care, or even didn’t know who I was.” They were both silent for a few moments. Draco began to move to get ready for bed. “Draco—thanks. It feels good to talk this out. I appreciate it.”

Draco nodded and went to the restroom to freshen up for bed. He felt lighter than he had in a long time, and he hadn’t even drunk that much Firewhisky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even I couldn’t contain myself for that much longer. Can’t wait for these two to find out what they really need....As always comments are so loved and appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is forced to practice self-care. Also, could Potter just leave him alone?

**Chapter 9**

It was finally the end of the first week of school, and Draco had mounds of homework to do. He found a quiet study corner in the library on Friday afternoon. Greg had gone to his first session with the Mind Healer, and Blaise and Daphne were enjoying the autumn winds. He just wanted to be alone. He normally hated privacy and constantly surrounded himself with friends back in the day, but he spent his entire summer in isolation. Having all these deep conversations this week had made him realize just how much he was suffocating.

“Hi Draco,” Potter said quietly in an attempt not to startle Draco—he jumped anyway.

“What do you want, Potter?” It was true that Draco and Harry had talked quite a bit over the past few days, but only in their bedroom. Outside of their shared quarters, Draco attempted to keep up the same malice he always had over the years. It was the one thing that could stay the same. But Potter refused to participate—he just ignored insults.

“Two things: first, I have a note from Professor McGonagall for you.” Draco’s eyes narrowed as he took the note. He cast it aside, having a sinking feeling he knew what it was about. “Second, I was wondering if you could help me with the Potions homework sometime this weekend.”

Draco raised a brow. “I thought you were one of the best potioneers Slughorn had ever seen?”

“Well...” Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. “It’s a long story, but I sort of...had extra help back then that I don’t have this year.”

Draco decided it wasn’t worth his time to inquire and continued to write his essay. “Why don’t you ask Granger?”

“You’re better at Potions than she is. Also as smart as Hermione is, she isn’t that great of a tutor. I can help you with your spells in exchange,” Harry suggested.

Draco slammed down his quill. “What makes you think I’m having trouble casting spells?”

“You spent the better part of Transfiguration yesterday chasing down your alarm clock that had sprouted legs and was kicking people!” Draco could not argue with that.

“Fine, Potter, I’ll help you.”

“Great. Noon tomorrow alright?”

“Fine,” Draco repeated.

“Awesome. We were all going to go down to Hogsmeade afterward if you’re interested.” The eighth-years now had permission to visit the nearby village during weekends. Draco didn’t respond and kept writing, hoping that Potter would take the hint. “See you later,” Harry said, and left Draco back to his studying.

Draco unfolded the note from Professor McGonagall, not wanting to delay the inevitable.

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_Please be so kind as to join me for afternoon tea at 4 o’clock today in my office. The password is “Ragdoll.”_

_Professor McGonagall_  
  
A glance at the clock told Draco that he only had about half an hour to gather his things and head up to the Headmistress’s office. He finished up his paragraph, gathered his things, and left the library, trying to look as inconspicuous as he could. Still, he encountered disgusted looks and jeers from older students as he walked through the halls. He noticed that first-years literally took different routes to avoid being near him—they’ve probably heard the stories by now. He sighed as he told the Gargoyle the password and walked up the stairs to the Headmistress’s office.

“Come in,” a friendly voice said when he knocked on the door. He slowly entered the office, and he cursed himself for not mentally preparing a little better. Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape’s portraits stared down at him from behind McGonagall’s desk. Both wore a friendly, almost fond expression, but Draco couldn’t meet their eyes. “Hello, Mr. Malfoy. Please, take a seat.” Draco sat down, looking at his hands. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good to hear. How are you finding your time back in Hogwarts?”

“Fine.”

Professor McGonagall sighed. “You’re not in trouble, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco looked up. Maybe this meeting wasn’t about what he thought it would be. He never visited the Professor to sign up for a session with the Mind Healer like Granger said everyone had to do. Even Blaise made an appointment yesterday, saying that he doesn’t mind sitting in silence for an hour every week if that would keep him out of trouble. But the thought of Draco sitting in silence for an hour while under scrutiny was too close to the Death Eater meetings he had to attend. He hoped it would pass Professor McGonagall’s notice, and possibly he was right. “I’m not?”

“No,” she said, pushing a tin of cookies toward him. “I did notice, however, that you have not signed up for a session with a Mind Healer.” _Dammit_. “I thought that you might be too busy to stop by and sign up, so I wanted to force the issue, if you will.” She reached behind her and picked up a piece of paper. “There are appointments available on Tuesdays at 3 and 4pm, Wednesdays at—“

“Professor,” Draco blurted out. “I’d—I’d rather not. But I appreciate the offer.”

“Ah,” she set the paper down and lowered her spectacles. “There has been a misunderstanding, Mr. Malfoy. This is not an optional task. All of you eighth years are very close to my heart, and I know that the past year has been extremely trying for most of you. I want to hold you all to the same educational expectations as any NEWT student, but I cannot do that without knowing that you are getting assistance with the healing process.”

“That’s—that’s fair. If my grades suffer, I’ll go,” Draco said. He wasn’t sure he had ever had a conversation this long with Professor McGonagall, or this civil.

“That is beside the point, Mr. Malfoy. If your grades don’t suffer, something else will. You don’t look well as it is. And so, what date would work best for you?”

Draco was silent for a few minutes, trying to think of any other excuse.

“Mr. Malfoy, we can sit and stare at each other all evening if you’d like, but I’m sure there are better ways to spend your Friday evening. Why does this give you such anxiety? The Healers are very nice people, and the students who have tried it thus far have found it extremely helpful.”

“I just feel that it is unnecessary.”

“Your dishonesty is refreshing as always, Draco,” a familiar voice drawled. Professor Snape was smirking at Draco from his portrait.

“It’s—“ Draco balked, feeling a bit odd talking to a portrait. How much of his mentor was captured in the personality of the painting? “It’s not dishonest, I do feel that it’s unnecessary. I’m fine!”

“Withholding the truth is a type of dishonesty,” Professor Dumbledore chimed in. While Draco felt pain in his heart hearing his departed teacher’s voice, he felt a pit in his stomach feeling the old Headmaster’s. “And, forgive an old portrait for being so blunt, but you look a bit ill, as you did in my last year as Headmaster.”

Draco felt anger surge in him. Why was Professor Dumbledore all of a sudden concerned about him? The old man knew exactly what Draco was trying to do for the entirety of sixth year and never bothered to reach out for help. _Too little, too late_. He focused his attention back on Professor McGonagall and dug his fingernails into his arm. “What are the consequences if I refuse?”

She leaned back in her chair. “Then I will not be able to let you continue to attend this school as a student.”

“But—my probation requires it.”

“Then I suppose it would behoove you to schedule an appointment,” she handed him a quill.

He was out of options, as per usual, cornered by three Headmasters. _I wonder if they all talked about this before I came in, had a good laugh. Maybe that’s flattering myself too much, though. If Dumbledore didn’t even care about what I was doing when I was trying to kill him, why would he care about me now?_ Draco internally scolded himself for being stupid. _That’s not Dumbledore and that’s not Snape. They’re both dead, those are just...echoes._ But the outcome of this situation was the same regardless—Professor Snape was not here to bail him out. He angrily scribbled his name by an appointment slot.

“Wonderful,” McGonagall seemed oblivious to his rage. “That will be your appointment slot for the next three weeks. If you wish to continue after that, you may, but it will not be required.”

“Great,” Draco said sarcastically, and started to pick up his bag.

“One more thing, Mr. Malfoy.” The Headmistress’s voice all of a sudden got gentler. “I had a conversation with Mr. Potter today. He told me that you were attacked.”

“He was being dramatic,” Draco said instantly.

“He told me you nearly died. Is this true?”

“I mean...I just have no way to heal myself, since I can’t use magic. So I lost consciousness, but I’m not sure I nearly died.”

“Why didn’t you go to the Hospital Wing immediately? And why didn’t you report the attack to me as soon as it happened?”

“I thought someone back at the dorm could heal me quickly, it wasn’t a wound that warranted the Hospital Wing, in my opinion. It’s just that everyone was at lunch, and by the time I figured that out, I was too dizzy to walk there.”

“And about reporting?”

“It wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t an attack, it was just...a scuffle.”

“A scuffle.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yes.”

Professor McGonagall sighed. “I don’t want any students being attacked at this school, particularly by other students. We’ve had enough of that for a lifetime. I’m assuming you don’t want to tell me who attacked you? Potter said he didn’t know.” Draco shook his head. “Very well. But I need you to understand that you are allowed to tell me these things. You don’t deserve to be attacked.”

Draco scoffed and looked down. Professor McGonagall ignored this and continued. “I want you to go downstairs right now and get a physical examination from Madame Pomfrey.” Draco’s head shot up at this.

“What? Why?”

“Because blood loss is a serious thing Mr. Malfoy, and you didn’t take any potions for it! I will not have any students dying under my watch.” She jotted down a note for Madame Pomfrey and handed it to him. Draco took this as a cue to leave and stood up.

“One more thing, Draco.” The young man turned around in surprise at the mention of his first name. The Headmistress’s eyes were shiny, as if she were about to cry. “Ms. Lovegood informed me that you were at the Astronomy Tower the day you were attacked.”

Draco immediately became defensive. “I wasn’t—I mean I was just needed some air. It’s a nice view up there. I wasn’t trying to...” _Too defensive._

“I want you at this school, Draco. Please, if you ever feel—and I’m not saying you did,” she interrupted herself, noticing the protesting look on Draco’s face already. “If you ever feel like harming yourself in any capacity, please come to my office immediately. I won’t tell your parents, I won’t make you discuss anything. I’ll just...” she sighed and looked down, seeming at a loss for words. “I’ll just make you some tea. Alright?”

Draco was too stunned by this show of emotion to do anything but nod.

“Good. Now go to the Hospital Wing. I will know if you don’t.”

Draco nodded again and left the Headmistress’s office. _That wasn’t so bad_. But then he remembered that he was forced into signing up for a Mind Healer appointment. He felt a pit in his stomach. Didn’t anyone understand that reliving everything was not going to help him in the slightest, but could very well destroy him? He just wanted to be in peace. He could recover on his own time, his own way. He didn’t want everyone interfering like this, whatever their intentions.

As it was Friday evening, the hallways were blissfully empty and Draco had an uneventful walk down to the Hospital Wing. The last time he was here was in his sixth year after Potter split his skin open in dozens of places with that curse he used. Draco remembered lying on the floor, only barely aware of what had just happened, and frankly, ready to die. His last thought before his swimming vision registered Professor Snape healing him was about his mother. _I should write her this weekend_.

He always wondered what spell Potter had cast on that fateful day—it was so unlike him to do something that...violent. Though, Draco had been about to torture him. _Not that it would have worked_. He knew how much hate he had to feel in order for the Cruciatus curse to work, and he didn’t think that he could have mustered that anger for Potter, especially in that moment.

The Hospital Wing was empty, and Madame Pomfrey came over to the shuffling Draco right away. “Mr. Malfoy,” she said somewhat coldly. Goodness knows how many patients came here last year because of Draco alone. “Professor McGonagall told me to expect you. Come here,” she said, gesturing to a bed nearest to her office.

She began to run diagnostic spells on him. “Have you signed up for a Mind Healer appointment?”

“Yes,” Draco responded curtly.

“Do not fret, Mr. Malfoy. All of the eighth years have been required to sign up and get a physical examination. We assume that a lot of injuries flew under the radar last year.” Draco was silent as she continued to poke and prod.

“Now, which arm was the cut on?” Draco lifted up his right sleeve, very grateful that his left arm wasn’t attacked. The light imprint of the skull and snake still stood out to him everytime he took a shower, and so even in the summer he preferred long sleeves. “Ms. Granger healed this, yes?” Draco nodded. “She did a decent job, but you will have a small scar. It doesn’t look to be infected, so that’s good.”

With a flick of her wand, Madame Pomfrey transferred Draco’s diagnostic results to a piece of parchment. “There are a few things of concern that we need to address here. You’re still recovering from blood loss, so I’m going to have you take one Blood Replenishing potion today, but that should be all that is necessary. You also appear to have some vitamin and iron deficiencies, so I’ll give you nutrient potions for that. You need to improve your diet though, you are also underweight. Additionally, you appear to have some nerve damage.”

Draco’s brows furrowed. “How did I get nerve damage?”

Madame Pomfrey met his gaze and spoke gently. “Likely from overexposure to curses, dear.” Draco couldn’t recall a time when Madame Pomfrey ever called him ‘dear.’ “Not to worry, the long-term effects are not significant, though much more and they would have been. If you’d like, there are exercises you can do to help your brain heal.”

“That’s quite alright.” If it wasn’t going to impede Draco too much in the long term, there was no point fixing it. _I don’t deserve to have it fixed either._

“The last thing is that it looks like there were some blunt force injuries that haven’t healed properly. Did you visit any Healer after the Battle?” Draco shook his head and Madame Pomfrey tsked. “This should help.” She waved her wand and Draco’s body tingled. Pains he didn’t even realize were there vanished.

“Wow, that did help. Thank you,” he said, hopping off the bed.

“You’re welcome. I want to see you back in a week to check your weight and some of these deficiencies. Let me go grab your potions—oh, hello Mr. Potter!” Draco turned to find that Harry Potter walking toward them. He immediately averted his eyes, feeling embarrassed.

“Hello, Madame Pomfrey. I was wondering if I could get some more...”

“Yes, dear, of course.” Madame Pomfrey seemed to forget all about Draco and rushed to get whatever Potter asked for. Draco rolled his eyes.

“You alright?” Harry asked, a concerned look on his face.

“Fine, Potter. McGonagall forced me to get a checkup.”

“Oh yeah, she made all of us do that too. It’s a good thing, though, in the end.”

Madame Pomfrey returned with both sets of potions for Harry and Draco. They bade her goodbye and set off.

“Where’re you off to?” Harry asked.

“Dunno. Probably going to study some more.”

“The eighth-years were thinking about putting together an informal Quidditch game tonight, just us. You want in? We need at least two Seekers.”

“Um...I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” Draco was taken aback that Savior Potter was inviting him to anything. The thought of being around everyone and playing Quidditch again made him feel a little sick.

“Alright. We’ll be out there at around ten.”

Draco feigned going to the library, but instead headed out to the lake to get some fresh air and think about Potter’s proposition. With his potions still in his book bag, he felt very much at a crossroads: one between physical health and weakness, and between friendship and isolation. Throwing rocks into the lake absentmindedly, he couldn’t figure out which he wanted, or which he deserved. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love love LOVE your comments! Keep them coming. I love you guys! Yay for 100 Kudos!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco plays Quidditch, and finds out how Potter felt when he fainted during the game in their 3rd year...

**Chapter 10**

“This is a terrible idea,” Blaise said, though it actually did not take much convincing for him to come along. “They didn’t even invite us.”

“Potter said we could come.”

“Potter said _you_ could come,” Blaise readjusted his grip on his broom as they walked out to the Quidditch pitch. “He didn’t say anything about the rest of us heathens.”

“I’m sure they won’t mind more players,” Daphne said. “If they do, we can always just sit and watch, be the scorekeepers or something.”

“I’m not going to be anyone’s scorekeeper,” Blaise grumbled. “Especially not for a bunch of goody two-shoe Gryffindors.”

“I’m not that good anyway,” Greg said. “I bet they’ll knock me off my broom first chance they get. Why are we doing this again?”

“Because Draco was right when he said it would be a good chance to get some fresh air,” Daphne said. “And interact with the others. As we’ve all seen, the amount of forced harmony this year is only going to increase.”

After brooding by the lake for the better part of the afternoon, Draco decided to go to the informal Quidditch game happening in the moonlight—but he was bringing his friends with him.Holding his old broom in his right hand, he felt somewhat optimistic about the evening. He was feeling much better physically after visiting Madame Pomfrey, and he was looking forward to playing Quidditch again. The sport had to be cancelled last year due to a lack of students interested in participating. Most of the older Gryffindors quit the team, Draco assumed in some kind of protest move, and the rest were often too injured and tired to be any good. Draco hadn’t actually stepped foot on the pitch for a long time.

It was a few minutes past ten, and the Slytherins appeared to be the last ones there. Potter must have prepared the others that the former Death Eater was coming, because Draco was met with only reluctant nods—no jeers or insults. Harry smiled at Draco, and Draco gave him a friendly nod in return.

“Alright everyone,” Potter got their attention. “Thanks for coming out tonight. I just figured this would be a fun way to blow off some steam and end the week. I know many of you haven’t been on a Quidditch team before, and that’s okay. We’re just going to have fun.”

Potter started to divide the players up into teams based on who had any experience playing a certain position. He and Draco were the only Seekers, so they were on opposite teams. Granger, Longbottom, Thomas, and a handful of others were sitting out, as they weren’t comfortable on a broom. Draco ended up on a team with Greg with Blaise and Daphne on Potter’s team. Greg was one Beater for Draco’s team, but Seamus was the other. Biting his lip, Draco worried that Seamus wouldn’t be too concerned about beating a Bludger away from him.

Granger opened the box with the Quaffles and the Snitch. She held the glittering object up high as it excitedly danced in her hands. Everyone else mounted their brooms, wearing old uniforms with jackets to combat the autumn winds. “And—play!” Granger released the Snitch and everyone took off. Draco was a little wobbly and worked to balance himself, meaning that Potter was able to get a head start on the Snitch. Draco zoomed after him, quiet and focused. A younger version of himself may be trying to come up with the best insults to hurl at Potter to distract him—_the idiot fell for it every time, too_—but Draco really needed a win.

He zoned out, barely hearing Thomas’s scorekeeping comments from below. He knew, though, that his team was falling behind. It was hard to spot anything yellow against the starry backdrop. He and Potter hovered in the air for a second, both looking around.

Potter laughed with joy. “I didn’t realize how much I missed this. You?”

“Shut up, Potter. You’re not going to distract me,” Draco said good-naturedly.

“I’m just saying, I thought I saw you smile earlier and I nearly fell off my broom. It’s kind of nice to be back at it again—“

Draco wasn’t around to hear Potter’s finished thought. He had a hunch that the moving star he saw in the night sky was actually the Snitch. Hearing Potter right on his tail, Draco finally spotted it. His heart rate increased and he tried not to wobble as he dove downward after the pesky ball. He was so close, and could hear the commotion of the small crowd as he and Potter flew back toward the ground. The Snitch leveled out, preventing them both from diving straight into the pitch at the last second. Stretching out his left arm, Draco leaned forward, fingers barely grazing the object—

—he gasped as his left arm suddenly burned. It _burned..._

_“You do realize that someone must pay for your father’s stupidity, Draco?”_

_Draco nodded, trying to conceal his shaking but failing miserably. His mother looked on with tears in her eyes, standing next to Aunt Bellatrix who looked as excited as Narcissa looked devastated. And in the middle of the foyer paced the Dark Lord, wand out and ready. Draco was doing the best he could not to vomit._

“_Speak, Draco.”_

_“Yes, my lord.” Draco said quietly._

_“You are meek, just like your father. I do not want to make you a Death Eater. You are far too young to be of much use to me.” The Dark Lord suddenly stopped pacing and faced Draco. “Or perhaps, your youth could be most helpful. You see, Draco, there is only one wizard who comes close to having the power that I possess. That wizard is none other than your Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Look at me, Draco.”_

_With a flick of the Dark Lord’s wand, Draco’s head was jerked upward, exposing his terror fully to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. “Yes. I think you will be useful after all. You know, your father tried to prevent this from occurring. He begged like the coward that he is, not wanting his only son to receive the highest honor possible. Making you a part of our team would be a cruel punishment for him indeed. But perhaps, a reward for you?” The Dark Lord stepped closer to the trembling Draco._

_“Y—Yes my Lord,” Draco tried to speak more clearly._

_The Dark Lord laughed, a high and humorless scoff. “Well then, Draco. Hold out your left arm.”_

_Draco stretched out his arm and the Dark Lord turned it over roughly, pulling up his sleeve to expose his pale forearm._

“_Do you pledge loyalty to me, from this day forward, to the rest of your days, and beyond?”_

_Draco swallowed. His mother was right behind him—he had no choice. “Yes, My Lord.”_

_The Dark Lord’s wand pressed deeply into Draco’s flesh. His mother had prepared him, he knew this would hurt, but he was not expecting it to burn both inside and outside, throughout his whole body. He screamed and coughed, feeling something evil enter his bloodstream, suffocating him from within. Draco was shocked that he couldn’t smell burning flesh—surely, his arm was on fire..._

Draco felt grass under his fingers and tasted vomit in his mouth. He was gasping and crying, the world swimming under his body. His left arm still hurt—he was not sure if he was injured, if the Dark Lord was summoning him once more, or if the pain was an echo. He was unbelievably cold despite the heat of his arm. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he noticed Potter’s voice and someone’s hand on his back. He was sitting up and Potter was next to him, apparently soothing him with nonsensical stories.

“Anyway, then we went to Hogsmeade and it did not go well. I was supposed to meet up with Hermione later, and I told her that, and she accused me of—“

Draco shoved Potter’s hand off of him, sat up straighter, and put his head in his hands, still trying to even his breathing. His stomach rolled, and he turned away from Potter to vomit into the grass.

“Easy, it’s okay,” Potter hushed Draco’s panicked gasps as he choked and sputtered.

“Where...where’s everyone...” Draco managed to get out.

“They went back inside. It’s about eleven now, they didn’t want to break curfew. But I think McGonagall can make an exception for me. Your friends really did want to stay though, we practically had to drag Goyle away.”

That wasn’t what Draco was concerned about. He spat one more time and then spun to grab Potter’s arm. “Potter, my...my arm burned. Something’s wrong, I think—“

Potter met his gaze and serious tone. “Dean put a Stinging Hex on your arm so that you wouldn’t get the Snitch. I don’t even think he meant for you to think...I think he just didn’t want you to win. That’s all.”

“But—but I felt—“

“Look for yourself,” Potter said gently. He grabbed Draco’s hand and lifted up his sleeve. Draco was too relieved to be mortified that Potter saw the pale outline of his Dark Mark. The scar was just as faded as normal—he was not back. Draco nearly giggled, feeling giddy.

After a few more minutes of trying to get his breath back, what Potter had said earlier sunk into Draco. “Did you say it’s eleven?”

Potter looked away, giving Draco some privacy to deal with this realization. “Yeah, mate. You went down pretty hard—thankfully we were close to the ground anyway. You didn’t black out but you were having some kind of flashback. No one could get through to you for about twenty minutes.”

Draco fought back nausea again. It was bad enough when he had a fit on the train in front of Potter. Now the entire eighth year knew that he was wrong in the head. “Well, thanks for staying out here with me. Don’t feel the need to stick around.” Draco made to get up but he stumbled, still dizzy. Potter reached out to help steady him. “Woah, we can walk back in a bit. That was a pretty major panic attack, you should rest a little longer.” Potter waved his wand and a blanket of warmth fell around both him and Draco, easing the latter’s shivers just a little. Draco resented Potter using the Muggle term for whatever ailed him, but was too tired to argue with him about it.

Both boys sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Potter spoke up quietly. “I feel the same way, when I think my scar hurts. In that moment I’m terrified that he’s back. But Draco,” Harry put his hand on Draco’s arm, and Draco met his gaze. “I saw what became of him. He’s gone for good.”

Draco’s brows furrowed. “Well yeah, we all saw the body...”

“No, I mean...” Harry sighed. “You know how Hagrid came back carrying me? And everyone thought I was dead?” Draco nodded. “Well, I _had_ died. Part of me, anyway. Voldemort did cast the Killing Curse on me, and I went to this weird, afterlife train station. Dumbledore was there, and so was Tom Riddle. But he was—absolutely inhuman. That was his fate, that’s where he is now. In pain for the rest of eternity.”

Draco wanted to mock Potter for telling such a ridiculous story, but the young man sitting beside him was so vulnerable, and so sincere. So instead, Draco nodded and looked at his feet. “That’s good to know. That he’s not going to come back.”

Harry smiled ruefully. “I know it doesn’t make it feel any less scary.”

They were silent again, then Draco cleared his throat. “I bet everyone had a good laugh over this,” he tried to say lightheartedly.

“No, absolutely not,” Harry didn’t match his tone. “Even Dean was horrified, I think. He was apologizing to you, saying he just meant it as a stupid prank, but you didn’t hear him. Everyone was concerned.”

“That’s even worse,” Draco groaned, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“We managed to crowd around you pretty quick so that not everyone saw what was going on. We can make something up to them later. But hey,” Harry nudged Draco with his shoulder. “Now you know how I felt when I fainted during the game in third year!”

Draco gave a small laugh, remembering making fun of Potter endlessly over that. “I guess you’re right. I probably wouldn’t have even made fun of you if I wasn’t so...” he sighed.

“So what?” Harry prodded.

“It’s stupid.”

“I think we’re in too deep to judge each other for anything, Draco.”

Draco waited a few moments to speak, knowing that he would regret his decision to be vulnerable, especially after causing this much of a scene. But it was nearing midnight and somehow he felt safe in the open, under the stars, and with Potter. “I was so angry with you. For not being my friend in first year. No one had ever done that before, and I kept wondering what Weasley of all people had that I didn’t.”

“It’s not that he had something you didn’t. It’s just that...well I’d been around Muggles who hated me my whole life. I didn’t want to make friends with someone who did that to others.”

Draco looked at Harry. “What Muggles hated you?”

“Oh,” Harry looked down. “I lived with my aunt and uncle, and they didn’t like me one bit. Thought I was a right nuisance. Before I had a growth spurt, I lived in the cupboard under their stairs.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to touch Harry’s arm, though he did so hesitantly and with a shaking hand. “That’s awful. I’m serious. Even you, the biggest prick I know, didn’t deserve that.”

Harry gave a small smile. “Thanks, mate.”

“I didn’t know that, either. I always assumed you were constantly surrounded by people who worshipped your very presence.”

“Well, you aren’t wrong in the wizarding world, I suppose. And frankly I’m sick of it. I don’t want people to hate me either. I want something in between, where I can just—exist. Sort of how you treat me now, you know? You aren’t insulting me every second but you don’t go around claiming I saved the world all the time. It’s refreshing. So thank you, for that.”

Draco scoffed. “Whatever, Potter. You were always a sap.”

“Actually, I’m really sorry, I’m being rude. Did you...did you want to talk about what happened, at all?”

Draco shook his head vehemently. “Not one bit.”

“Alright, we don’t have to talk about it today. But I’m serious, it’s the only thing that helps. I was on a huge downward spiral this summer until I opened up. So whether it’s with me, your friends, your Mind Healer—anyone. You need to talk about it.”

“The day I take advice from you, Potter, is truly the day the world is going to end.”

Harry laughed. “You feeling up to walking back?”

“Yup.” Draco got up a lot more successfully this time, with Potter right beside him ready to steady him if needed. The two walked back to their dormitory, not speaking but rather marinating in a pleasant and comfortable silence. The ability to do so was one of Draco’s greatest wishes in a companion—and it certainly wouldn’t be Potter in the end, but this would do for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhhh I love writing this developing friendship! Please let me know what you think. I love you guys


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry may not be doing as well as he seems—and the Aurors don’t seem to have it all together either...

**Chapter 11**

As promised, Draco got up at around eleven the next morning to prepare to help Potter with his Potions homework—the latter of which was already gone. He stifled a yawn as he got ready for the day. The previous night had been a late one. When he and Potter returned to the common room, both boys’ groups were waiting for them. Taking advantage of Longbottom having waited with Granger in the living space for Potter, Greg pulled the other three Slytherins into his room to discuss what happened. Draco was honest with them, feeling a little more comfortable talking to his friends after practicing by talking to his former nemesis. They expressed their sympathies before the conversation turned toward Potter.

“You guys were out there a long time. What, are you becoming friends with Potter or something?” Blaise asked teasingly.

“No way,” Draco said, though a flicker of doubt rose inside of him. “He’s just always around. Particularly when embarrassing things happen to me, I guess.”

“But he’s not like...making fun of you or anything,” Daphne said thoughtfully. “I remember when he attacked you in the bathroom last year. Pansy told me you were worried he was going to tell the whole school that you were...upset.” She chose her words carefully—Draco did not want to admit that he cried in front of Potter. He hadn’t even wanted to tell Pansy, but she came to the Hospital Wing so often to visit him where he was cornered. Answering her questions at least made her go away faster so he could be alone and in peace. He ended up telling her the whole story, feeling that his childhood friend would keep it between the two of them. He was mildly irritated that this was clearly not the case. “But it didn’t get around school at all. I wonder what he’s after, then.”

“Maybe he likes you,” Blaise drawled. “He did just break up with the Weaslette.”

“Potter doesn’t like blokes,” Draco scoffed. But then he thought about it some more. “I mean, I don’t think he does. He knows I’m gay but his side of things hasn’t come up.”

“How does he know you’re gay?” Greg chimed in. Draco’s sexuality wasn’t really a secret since no wizard would care enough to find it noteworthy. But it’s not like Draco was particularly flamboyant or flirty, and he did go to the ball with Pansy, so he was often assumed to be straight. 

“He asked if Pansy and I were ever together.” Draco leaned back on Greg’s bed, getting tired. “Besides,” he said with his hands over his eyes. “If Potter did like blokes, he certainly wouldn’t like me.”

Blaise laughed. “Can you guys even imagine? Draco and Potter, a couple?” Even Draco had to laugh at that one.

The night had ended on a positive note, and Draco was able to sleep through the night with little difficulty despite his earlier flashback. Yesterday felt like a long time ago, but Draco remembered that he had a decision to make. Should he go to Hogsmeade with Potter and his friends after he tutored Harry in Potions? He would like to get a gift for his mother before he sent a small care package out, but that place also held bad memories for him. He put Madame Rosmerta under the Imperius Curse, and sometimes he had Occlumency lessons with his Aunt Bellatrix at the Hogs Head last year. If Draco wasn’t focused enough, Bellatrix would torture him while his mom watched with tears in her eyes. That hurt way more than the physical pain. Seeing the look on his mother’s face...

Draco sighed as he pulled on a cashmere sweater, smoothing his hands over the fabric. He really did want to make his mother happy. Maybe a trinket from a store would brighten her day. He’d suck up the painful memories and go anyway. Grabbing his bag, he opened his bedroom door and stepped into the living space. Blaise, Daphne, and Greg were nowhere to be found, but that was alright—the Slytherins all respected each other’s space and didn’t feel the need to spend every second of the day together.

Draco found the hallways blissfully empty as he walked down to the Potions classroom. He had been fighting a certain feeling for the past few days, but as he thought about the subject, he was again reminded that he missed Professor Snape dearly. Most of the teachers at Hogwarts had found the Malfoys and other pureblood families unfavorable, so it was incredibly nice for Draco to feel wanted. He often lingered after class, talking to Snape about various things, opening up to him about his worries and fears. 

Draco thought about the last two years of Snape’s life. Starting in Draco’s sixth year he had become almost hostile to his former mentor. He avoided Snape’s concerned gaze whenever he could. When Snape became Headmaster, Draco ignored all the notes summoning him to Snape’s office. Now that Snape was dead, Draco couldn’t think of anyone he wanted to see more. He wanted to ask Snape so many questions, wanted to tell him about all the horrendous things that he had done and seen over the past year. Sometimes Draco felt like he was choking on the regret of how he treated the professor in his final months.

Draco pushed open the door to the Potions classroom to find Potter worriedly standing over a cauldron. Something smelled...very off.

“What in the bloody hell are you making over there, Potter? Have you summoned me here to kill me?” Draco peeked in Potter’s cauldron to see a gray, unnaturally viscous liquid. 

“I’m trying to make Wolfsbane, but I think I made a misstep—“

“No kidding. Vanish that mess and scoot over.”

For the next half hour, Draco and Potter worked together on the potion. Draco showed him the best techniques for cutting ingredients and how to measure gases properly. Finally the potion turned the correct color. “Great, now we just need to let it sit for twenty minutes.” They both sat tiredly on the stools, wiping sweat from their brows.

After a few moments of silence, Draco looked over to see Harry staring at the cauldron, his eyes far away. “You alright?”

Harry jumped. “Yeah. Yeah.”

“Say it one more time and I’ll believe you, Potter.”

Harry sighed. “It just...I was just reminded of someone.”

“That one guy? Aunt Andromeda’s son in law?”

Harry looked surprised. “Yeah. I mean you know, he was a werewolf and all. It’s stupid to remember him from just a potion, but I think about him all the time. And everyone else.”

Draco didn’t really know what to say to that. His mind was filled with memories of the Death Eater meeting where the Dark Lord taunted Draco about babysitting Nymphadora and Lupin’s kids. “Didn’t they have a kid?”

Harry smiled, a truly happy one. “Yeah, his name is Teddy. He’s adorable. I guess you guys would be related, huh?”

Draco felt uncomfortable. “Distantly. He’s some sort of cousin, but I have a dozen of those.”

Harry nodded. “I’m his godfather.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” Draco wasn’t really sure if that warranted congratulations, but he got the sense that Harry just needed to talk and wasn’t really listening to Draco anyway.

“Yeah. Andromeda raises Teddy for now, but I’d like to have a big role in raising him. After all, it’s sort of my fault that he ended up orphaned like me.” Draco noticed that Harry tried to say the last part nonchalantly, but his eyes glazed over a bit.

“Potter.” Draco pulled Harry’s eyes to his with a serious tone. “You’re a prick.”

“Well, thanks.”

“No, listen. You’re a prick, and none of the deaths that happened on that night are your fault. Besides You-Know-Who’s death, that was your fault. But that was a good thing. The rest? Not even close. I would tell you otherwise since I don’t care about tiptoeing around your feelings like you’re fragile.”

Harry shook his head. “If I hadn’t shown up at Hogwarts, they wouldn’t have—“

“Okay yeah, let’s say you didn’t show up. Then what? A big fight was inevitable, he wasn’t going to let Muggle sympathizers like McGonagall or even some half-bloods stay at Hogwarts for long. There was nothing you could have done differently that would have made things better. Actually, I think you prevented a lot more deaths by showing up when you did.”

Harry nodded and was silent for a few moments. Draco noticed his teeth and fist clenched, as if he were trying not to fall apart. “You know,” he said shakily. “Everyone else has told me that. But for some reason it makes me feel good that you said it. Because you’re right, I really do feel like you’d tell me if I were to blame for anything.”

“That’s something I can guarantee you, Potter. I’ll be honest with you.”

Harry swallowed, like he wanted to say something else to Draco. He seemed to decide against it. “Well, shall I teach you some spell work while we wait, then? We still have to work on our Defense Against the Dark Arts project, too.”

“We’d have to get someone to unlock the manacle, I can’t do magic with it on.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry frowned at Draco’s wrist. “I had a conversation with McGonagall about what happened.” 

“Oh, I know,” Draco said bitterly.

“Did she talk to you?” Harry looked somewhat apologetic. 

“Yeah, she was trying to get me to say who it was. She just doesn’t get it though. You don’t either. And I’m not even saying that...er, what I mean is I’m not angry. You just don’t understand what it’s like to be this hated, and you never will. 

“I know,” Harry said. “I’m sorry for involving her but I just don’t think it’s fair that you can’t even defend yourself. It’s more than unfair, it’s dangerous.”

“I’ll be fine, Potter. Here, it’s about time to stir the potion.” They were about a minute away from reaching that point, but Draco didn’t want to continue with the conversation. The potion turned out fine—possibly not as effective as it would have been had they waited, but enough to get Potter a good grade on Monday. Draco made a mental note to stop by to make his potion to turn in to Slughorn later. 

The two students cleaned up their supplies. “Alright,” Harry said with a satisfied sigh. “We did it. Thanks, Draco, I appreciate it. I promise I’ll repay you. Ready to head to Hogsmeade?”

_Who does he think he is? I never even said I was coming_. Draco sighed. “I suppose. Don’t worry if you need to ditch me at some point, I have some shopping to do anyway.”

Harry hoisted his bag over his shoulder. “Why would I ditch you?”

They walked in amicable silence out to the courtyard to meet Potter’s friends. Granger and Longbottom both looked somewhat surprised and a little upset to see Draco alongside Harry, but didn’t say anything. _If this is such a small crowd, why in the world did Potter invite me?_ Draco was expecting that almost all the eighth years were going to go, and that he was only casually invited. He was surprised at the intimacy of the group. 

The journey to Hogsmeade was quite casual. Draco was silent for most of the way, and no one even mentioned his incident the previous night. The three Gryffindors chatted happily as the train pulled into the Hogsmeade station. The village was serene, with only a few shoppers milling about, and no one paying any attention to Draco or Harry. 

“What should our first stop be? Three Broomsticks?” Longbottom asked.

Harry looked at Draco, who bit his lip but nodded. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself by saying he didn’t want to go. Hopefully either Madame Rosmerta wasn’t working right now, or she wouldn’t recognize him. After all, she had been under the influence nearly every time she saw him.

The four got a table, and were thankfully served by someone different from the woman that Draco cursed for the better part of two years. The pub was nearly empty, with only a few bums occupying barstools at the front and side. Draco was the only one of the Hogwarts students to order a Firewhiskey.

“Need to be drunk to spend time with us, Malfoy?” Neville said teasingly.

“Never hurts,” Draco mumbled. Out of the three, Granger definitely made him the most uncomfortable, but he didn’t much like being in Longbottom’s presence either. The two had some pretty brutal duels in the Carrows’ Dark Arts class, and Draco remembered that Neville had been on the receiving end of a few of his Cruciatus curses—and he was so full of self-loathing and jealously for Dumbledore’s Army at the time that he was sure the curse was painful. 

As Granger and Longbottom chatted away, Draco noticed Harry acting strangely. His eyes were darting about as if seeing invisible enemies, and Draco could feel his leg bouncing anxiously under the table. Draco nudged him secretively and raised an eyebrow, trying to ask what was wrong without drawing the attention of Harry’s friends. “I need some air,” Harry said suddenly, and bolted outside.

Longbottom and Granger went silent, and Granger sighed. “I’d wondered if that would happen.”

“Is he alright?” Draco tried to ask nonchalantly—but for some reason he truly was concerned about Potter.

“He’ll be fine. He just gets antsy in crowded situations. There are still a lot of Death Eaters that the Aurors haven’t been able to round up, and Harry sees them in almost every face.”

“Well shouldn’t one of you go talk to him?”

Granger narrowed her eyes at Draco’s accusatory tone. “He prefers to work these things out alone, for the most part. He learned a lot of strategies at the Mind Healer’s. He’ll come back when he’s ready. But if he isn’t back in five minutes, I’ll go talk to him.” She continued her conversation with Neville.

Draco doubted that Potter wanted to be alone. He believed that Potter conveyed that with his attitude, but Draco knew how it felt to pretend to want privacy and really need comfort—or just someone to sit with and ride out the flashbacks. But how was he going to talk to Harry without the other two noticing?

“Bathroom,” he mumbled, though neither Hermione nor Neville were really listening. Draco made for the restroom but took the back exit, and walked around the building to find Potter sitting on a bench, shivering a little. The village was strangely quiet—not a soul in sight even on a gorgeous autumn day.

Draco sat next to Harry, not saying anything. Harry had his eyes closed and was breathing deeply—Draco didn’t want to interrupt whatever ritual this was. After about a minute, Harry turned toward Draco, looking calmer.

“You didn’t have to come out here, I’m alright.”

“I’ve heard that before. And said it.”

“Well...thanks.” Harry looked awkward, even after seeing Draco in nearly a dozen embarrassingly vulnerable situations in the past few years.

“It’s also rude to leave your guest alone at a table with people that don’t like him.” Draco said this in a sarcastic tone, but Potter looked sharply at him with guilt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I for—“

“Relax, Potter, I’m joking.”

“Oh.” Harry broke out into a smile, then laughed. It was nearly infectious. “You sure have a funny way of—“

“Look at you two scums.” A chillingly familiar voice sounded from behind them. “The Boy Who Lived, getting all cute and cozy with a cowardly traitor.”

Both boys drew their wands, even though Draco knew his would be useless. Antonin Dolohov was standing behind them, wand out, and a smirk on his face. Draco nearly collapsed to the ground—this was one of the most powerful Death Eaters who fled after Voldemort’s fall, and one of the biggest names that the Aurors hadn’t found yet. Draco certainly feared for himself, but felt a deep ache inside for the boy next to him, who had to fight evil alone yet again... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had always wondered, what happened to like the hundreds of Death Eaters right after Harry killed Voldemort? Like there’s no way the Aurors could have rounded them all up at once—most of them had to flee. Anyway sorry to leave you on a cliffhanger, I’ll try to have the next one out by Friday! Let me know what you think. Love to all, especially my loyal readers!!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco deals with the aftermath of the attack, and discovers something horrifying...

**Chapter 12**

“Listen carefully to me, Potter,” Dolohov said with a sneer. Draco’s hand was shaking as he held out his useless wand. “I have others inside waiting for my signal. If you don’t do anything rash, your friends will live, and so will you.”

Potter looked confused. Draco also wasn’t sure what was happening. _Doesn’t he want to kill Potter_? “What do you want, then?” Apparently Potter shared his confusion. 

Dolohov tilted his head toward Draco. “Give up the traitor without a fight. There are still scores to be settled.”

Harry glared at Dolohov and tightened his grip on his wand. “And if I don’t?”

Dolohov laughed. “You’d really let your friends die for this worthless piece of shite?” He pointed his wand at Draco.

Draco put his wand down, ready to be taken. “Harry, it’s not worth it.” Draco used Potter’s first name in order to get his attention, to show him how serious this was. Harry was smirking, looking almost casual as he put his left hand in his pocket. Dolohov didn’t break eye contact with Potter. 

“What’ll you do with him?”

Dolohov’s evil smile faded into a glare. “He and his cowardly parents think they can just be the Ministry’s little pets. Turning in other people who helped our cause, without taking any punishments themselves. They know more than they’re letting on, too. And we can’t have any squealers. But I know even ol’ Lucius will bargain for him,” Dolohov said the final word with disgust.

“You’d risk coming here and being caught just to get revenge?” The more Harry stalled, the more Draco felt like vomiting. _What is he doing?_

“Harry, just let me go—“ he whispered.

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry looked extremely angry. Draco blanched at his tone and the malicious use of his last name. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Wordlessly, Dolohov put Harry in a Full Body Bind curse. Harry, mouth open, fell to the ground like a stiff board, unable to move or speak. Dolohov took a few steps toward Draco. Draco knew he was doomed.

“_Stupefy_!” Dolohov must have spoken the curse to give it more effect. Draco flew backward and hit his head on a lamppost, body going limp. He looked around woozily through the haze of pain—there was no one around to help, he was going to get taken and there was nothing that could be done. He felt a trickle of blood sliding down the back of his neck. He could barely see from the concussion.

All of a sudden he heard some sharp cracks as people materialized from the air. Spells immediately flew back and forth, with Dolohov’s apparent accomplices flying out from the Three Broomsticks, fighting the Aurors who Apparated into the village. Hermione and Neville burst out also, helping the Aurors fight the three Death Eaters. 

Evidently, someone released Harry from his curse. He slid over to Draco, who was still helplessly slumped under the post. 

“Malfoy?” Draco struggled to respond; nothing was making sense. Why didn’t Dolohov just kill Harry? Why did he want to capture Draco?

“He’s hit his head,” he heard someone say. A large figure loomed over him, and then the worst of the pain was suddenly gone with a flick of someone’s wand. Draco sat up, feeling significantly better, but the world still swimming a bit. The first face he was able to see clearly was Harry’s.

“Harry—I—I’m so sorry. You should have just let me go, why didn’t you just let me go? You could’ve—“ he then saw Neville and Hermione right behind Potter. He was nearly in tears “You all could’ve—“

“Mr. Malfoy,” an Auror that Draco didn’t recognize walked over to him and interrupted. “You’ll be taken in for questioning.” Draco no longer saw the three Death Eaters—he hoped they were captured rather than escaped. 

“What?” Harry said. “Why are you taking him in and not me?” 

“Someone knew you were going to be here today, Mr. Potter. We’re just trying to take every precaution to ensure your safety.”

“Oh, you’re going to start throwing people in Azkaban randomly again? You can’t just be useless for three years and then all of a sudden throw around your power just to reclaim order—“

“Mr. Potter, calm down. We will just ask him a few questions, and then release him back to your school unharmed. I’ll have my colleague accompany you and your friends back to Hogwarts, where we will meet with Professor McGonagall to tell her what has happened.”

Neville glared at the Auror. “You’re still treating him like a child, acting like he didn’t save the entire wizarding world.” Draco never got to hear the end of this conversation, because another Auror was all of a sudden hauling him to his feet. 

The Auror grabbed his wrist, and Draco felt the nauseating sensation that he recognized as side-along Apparation. As soon as he landed in some sort of an office, he ran to vomit in the nearest wastebin. Taking a blow to the head and then feeling like you’re being suffocated in a narrow tube will do that, apparently. The Auror who apparated Draco sighed and steered him to the nearest chair.

“I’ll have a Healer come and make sure that your head is alright.” The man looked to be in his thirties yet wore an aged expression. Draco didn’t recognize him from any of his trials, but he hadn’t been paying that close attention to the prosecutors anyway. The man’s office was small, but warm and quiet. Red carpet softened the floor under Draco’s feet, and the chair had a nice, plump cushion. Draco’s heart was still beating fast from the attack—and he had so many questions. However, he had learned to keep silent in these sort of situations. 

“Now—I need to hear exactly what happened.” Draco recounted the story from the beginning, leaving out why he and Potter were on the bench in the first place. He also couldn’t bear to tell the Auror that Dolohov claimed his parents knew more than they were letting on, even though he knew that was an important detail. Thinking of his mother being dragged back into the Ministry for more questioning sent chills down his spine. The Auror remained mostly silent while Draco was talking, frowning at a few details here and there and chiming in for some basic questions. The story took no longer than 10 minutes or so to tell, and then both sat in silence while the Auror made some notes.

Finally, the man looked up from his scribbling. He wore a blank expression. _At least he’s not looking at me with disgust like the other Aurors_. “I’m Auror Yarney, by the way. I just finished my training and was hired last week as a junior Auror. I have been assigned to assist with your family case as well as other reformed Death Eaters. I imagine we’ll be meeting again after this.”

Draco nodded uncomfortably. He swallowed. “Are—are my parents alright? Dolohov had mentioned my father...”

“They are fine,” Yarney glanced down at a piece of parchment, likely some sort of a communication device. “The Malfoy Manor is currently being searched along with the homes of every other former Death Eater.”

“Searched? Why?” Draco tried to keep his tone polite, but anger bubbled beneath the surface. His family home had been searched dozens of times over the past few months, and he knew how anxious it made Mother to have uninvited guests.

Yarney’s eyes narrowed. “Your involvement in this incident obviously raises some suspicion.”

_I was the one attacked!_, Draco wanted to scream. But he knew it would be pointless, and it would be best for his family if he kept silent. 

Auror Yarney moved to a cabinet and pulled out a thick file. He began skimming over the papers. After a few minutes, a long letter came zooming out of the fireplace next to his desk. Draco sat, fidgeting in his chair, as Yarney read the contents. “Interesting,” he mused. “Why didn’t you mention that Dolohov claimed your parents know more than they’re letting on?”

“Wh—what?” Draco stammered, knowing he was caught.

Auror Yarney turned back to face him. His stoic face had been replaced by a glare. “My colleague just sent me Mr. Potter’s statement on today’s events. Apparently Dolohov said,” he looked back at his parchment. “‘They know more than they’re letting on’, referring to your parents.” Yarney looked back at Draco. “Well?”

“I...forgot that part. Yes, he did. But I have no idea to what he might be referring.”

“Kind of convenient, innit? That you just forgot about that part.” Yarney was dropping his professional tone. _He does hate me._

“Listen,” Draco leaned forward. “My parents—well, my mom at least, has told you everything she knows, I _promise_ you.”

“That’s not my concern right now. My concern is that you seem to be perpetuating a cover-up. Did you really think that Potter, of all people, would want to cover for you or your family? Did you really think you’d be able to befriend the Savior of the Wizarding World?” 

Draco was surprisingly hurt by Yarney’s comment. _Of course I’d never want Potter to cover for me, and he certainly wouldn’t do it, either. But that doesn’t mean he_—Draco didn’t know how to finish that thought. —_that he cares for me_. _In some capacity_. “I wasn’t trying to cover anything up, I genuinely forgot!” Draco raised his voice subconsciously, even though he knew he looked extremely defensive.

Auror Yarney glared at him before abruptly standing up. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” But Yarney didn’t answer him, just motioned for him to stand. He led Draco out of the office and into a hallway of a part of the Ministry that Draco didn’t recognize from the long hours he used to spend as a child waiting on his father’s business meetings. They were walking so fast that Draco couldn’t keep track of the hallways—he only was able to identify some of the portraits that tsked as Draco was marched past. 

Finally, Yarney opened a door to a very simple room, and pulled Draco inside. “You are being held under suspicion of conspiracy to obstruct the Auror investigation of former Death Eaters.”

“But—wait a second, I—“ Draco was panicking.

“You will remain here until we can question appropriate individuals.” Yarney made to close the door.

“WAIT!” Draco said. He couldn’t be trapped here, it reminded him too much of being shut away in his own home for the past two years. “I want to speak with my family lawyer.”

“There’s no need for that at the moment. You are not under arrested, you are merely being held until we determine what to do next. The Healer will come by to examine you soon.” Draco stammered, but Yarney shut the door.

“UGH!” Draco yelled in frustration, and kicked one of the only pieces of furniture in the room. There was a hard wooden chair in the corner—the room had no windows. There was a table with a lamp, some parchment and quill, and a pitcher of water with a glass. There was also a file cabinet in the corner—locked, Draco soon found out.

He sat down stiffly on the chair, which was enormously uncomfortable. He put his still aching head in his hands and started to think.

_I should have just told him. I should have at least thrown my father under the bus_. Draco was filled with regret—what would happen to him now? What would happen to his mother? 

Something else was still bothering Draco. _I’d be able to befriend Potter, if I wanted to. Not that I’d want to_...of course Potter wouldn’t care about Draco’s parents. But he did care about Draco, didn’t he? He cared enough to search for him in sixth year until he found him crying in a bathroom. He cared enough to pull Draco on his broom in the Room of Requirement last May. For Merlin’s sake, he invited him out today! 

Draco wondered what Potter’s source of frustration with the Aurors was—he didn’t seem to like them. _I suppose it makes sense_. Draco remembered that the Aurors were quite unhelpful with the events of the past seven years. Lucius would often lead them away from any findings regarding the Dark Lord. The professor who had You-Know-Who on the back of his head was Dumbledore’s fault, the Chamber of Secrets being opened had reflected further incompetence of the Headmaster, Cedric Diggory had died due to negligence...the list of excuses continued, and everyone believed the Malfoy patriarch. Draco had believed him, too. _What an idiot I was_. And it had been the Order of the Phoenix who had fought so hard for the Dark Lord’s defeat, not the Aurors.

Did Lucius really know something else, some valuable information that could lead to the capture of more Death Eaters? That thought filled Draco with rage. How dare Draco’s father endanger his whole family, after everything Lucius put his wife through. Draco would go to Azkaban if it meant his mother could live in peace for the rest of her life...

Draco wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the Healer came in. She was a nice woman, but either refused to answer Draco’s questions about what was going on, or truly didn’t know. She gave him a potion to help with his head and told him that he would be fine, but he needed to take it easy over the next few days. _Yeah, if Yarney lets me, _Draco thought bitterly. The Healer left and Draco was alone once more. 

Finally, Yarney came back. “You can go,” he said, and held the door open for Draco. Draco stood up tentatively—it was really that easy? He thought he’d better not question anything lest Yarney change his mind. Yarney led Draco back to his office where Draco floo’ed back to Hogwarts.

Draco stepped out of the fireplace into Professor McGonagall’s office, where she was waiting for him. He coughed from the soot and brushed off his clothes. 

“Welcome back, Mr. Malfoy. Are you alright? Have a seat,” the Professor gestured to her chair.

“I’m fine. Is everyone else alright?”

“Yes,” she said, though she was somewhat hesitant.

“Is—is something wrong?”

She had a pitying look on her face—Draco couldn’t stand it. “Mr. Malfoy, your parents have been sent to Azkaban.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhhh I hope you guys like this! As always, please comment on what more you may want to see. I love you guys!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco deals with the worst news he’s ever received, and tries to answer an age-old question.

**Chapter 13**  
  
Draco gripped the back of the chair in front of McGonagall’s desk and leaned on it heavily, feeling like he may pass out. Professor McGonagall stood up and helped him sit. He sat breathing heavily for a few minutes, unable to think, unable to move—he could only try his best to contain the anxiety deep inside of him.

Finally, he swallowed and spoke. “W—why?”

“It’s...somewhat unclear,” Professor McGonagall spoke gently and poured Draco a cup of tea. “Potentially perjury. Obstruction of the investigation. There was also a rumor that there were suspicious artifacts in your house not handed over to the Ministry to begin with.”

“But—they’re just in Azkaban, just like that? Why aren’t they under house arrest until a trial?”

Professor McGonagall sighed, and Draco braced himself for whatever she was going to say. “It appears they took some sort of a deal. They agreed to be held in Azkaban until a retrial in order...” she paused. “In order for you to maintain your probation, rather than be retried with them.” 

“They—I was going to be retried?”

“Yes, your entire family was. But the Ministry doesn’t appear to find you very threatening, else they would not have even offered that deal to your parents,” McGonagall said somewhat bitterly. “Mr. Malfoy, some leadership in the Ministry is under the impression that desperate times call for desperate measures. The struggle we’ve been facing for the past few decades did not end with the fall of Voldemort. There are still Death Eaters at large, the Ministry is not having success apprehending them, and so they feel the need to reassure the public that they are doing something. Hence, the hasty imprisonment of your parents.

“Rest assured, I have expressed my displeasure at the situation. I am no fan of your parents’, Mr. Malfoy, but I believe that what is happening inside the Ministry right now is more of the same—wizards and witches ruled by fear. I think Minister Shacklebolt has done an excellent job with the current reforms, but only he can go so far. I’ve been in contact with him about this particular situation, and he has agreed to consider what I have to say. Hopefully in the next week or so we’ll learn how long this stint in Azkaban may end up being for your mother and father.” 

Draco was reeling and felt sick. He didn’t know what to say. Was his father really guilty of something? How could he do that to Draco’s mother? Lucius had been imprisoned during Draco’s sixth year, but Narcissa never had. Even after the war, they had all just been under house arrest—the Ministry had their hands full with worse Death Eaters, so the Malfoys escaped Azkaban entirely. Draco hadn’t been around Dementors much, but he knew what they could do. How would his mother be able to handle that? Would his parents even survive?

“I’m sorry,” Professor McGonagall said after a period of silence. “I know that you were injured today and should take it easy. Do you want to spend the night in the Hospital Wing?”

“No, no. I—thanks.” Draco stood up to leave, putting his hand on the chair’s armrest as the world swayed a bit. He could hear Professor Snape’s portrait make a faint noise of concern behind him.

“Mr. Malfoy, wait. Your Mind Healer appointment is on Monday, yes?” Draco nodded. “Good. Let me know if you need anything before then. I think your lawyer will be in contact with you soon regarding the retrial proceedings.”

Draco turned and open the door to Professor McGonagall’s office, coming face to face with Potter who had raised a hand to knock. Potter’s expression changed from one of anger to one of concern. “Draco! Are you alright?”

“Actually, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall had gotten up from her desk and now stood behind Draco. “Would you be so kind as to walk Mr. Malfoy back to your room? He’s just received some terrible news, and he is still recovering from the head injury he received earlier today.”

“Well—yeah of course,” Potter gave Draco a side glance. “But I wanted to talk to you about—“

“I don’t need him to walk me back,” Draco interrupted. “You guys can talk about whatever. I’m fine.”

“I can meet with you tomorrow, Mr. Potter. There are still many people I need to talk with tonight about what transpired today. Goodnight, you two.” Professor McGonagall shut the door, leaving Harry and Draco looking at each other blankly. 

“What happened? Are you alright?” Harry asked.

“I’m fine, Potter. And actually you’ll be thrilled—my parents are in Azkaban now.” Draco didn’t know why he was directing so much anger at his roommate. None of this was Harry’s fault, but Draco could never snap at the Ministry officials who held the blame. If he didn’t let some of these emotions out, he was sure he was going to explode.

“Your parents are in Azkaban? Why?”

“The Ministry thinks they’re hiding something. Maybe they are hiding something, I don’t even know. I don’t even know my own family well enough to tell you, Potter, because my whole life I believed that my parents would protect me and keep me safe and how well did that work out? I believed my father when he said he would take care of my mother, and how well did that work out? None of it did, and none of it ever will. Sometimes I don’t even know why I’m fucking here at this school, following my probation. I’m never going to have a job, or a family, because I’ll always just be a reformed Death Eater _at best._ What’s the point of any of it—“ Draco’s voice caught and he stopped to catch his breath after stalking furiously toward the eighth year dorms. His head was spinning and his stomach was churning—he put his hands on his knees and bent over, breathing heavily and sinking slowly toward the floor. His eyes embarrassingly pricked with tears that were threatening to fall, and acid from his empty stomach rose in his throat.

He felt a hand on his shoulder steadying him. “Draco...” Harry didn’t seem to know what to say. He helped Draco sit on a nearby staircase.

Draco wiped his nose with his sleeve and hid his eyes. He almost didn’t even care enough to be embarrassed that he was once again crying in front of Potter—why should he care what anyone thinks of him? For the rest of his life, people would look at him and see a criminal. “I just—I would rather have gone to Azkaban instead of my mother. She already suffered so much, I don’t think she could handle it. I just want her to be okay, I wish they had taken me instead—“ he stopped short and looked at Potter with hope in his eyes. “I could turn myself in, I bet it’s not too late—“ he made to stand, but Potter stopped him.

“Turn yourself in for what? Did you even play any part in this? Are you hiding something from the Aurors?”

“Well, no but I’m a Death Eater and I’m their son—“

“They’re not just going to let you replace your mother unless you actually did something. They’re not that far gone...sit back down,” Potter told him sternly but gently.

Draco was close to bursting into tears at the hopelessness of his situation. “Your mother is one of the strongest people I know. She’ll be alright,” Potter said quietly.

Draco glared at him. “How can you say that? You don’t even know her!”

Potter fidgeted with his hands. “After I died...in the forest on that day...Voldemort asked Narcissa to make sure I was truly dead.” This seemed hard for him to talk about, but one look at Draco’s hopeful face and he pressed on. “She bent over—she could tell that I was still breathing. She whispered to me and asked me if you were still alive. I nodded slightly, and then she told Voldemort I was dead.”

Harry made eye contact with Draco. “She lied to Voldemort, one of the most skilled Occlumens of all time. She can handle Azkaban. I promise.”

Draco’s chest swelled with pride at the thought of his mother being so brave. But then he was filled with guilt at the fact that she nearly died protecting him. He put his head back in his hands. “She risks too much for me...”

“That’s why you have to make them proud here. ‘What’s the point,’ you ask? The point is that you are here for a reason. You could be dead or in Azkaban, but you aren’t. I could be dead, but I’m not. We’re both right here, sitting next to each other for Merlin’s sake. I don’t think that just happens by chance.”

Draco gave a weak laugh. “There’s no way I would willingly spend time with you in a world ruled by just chance encounters, Potter.” 

“Exactly,” Harry smiled. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. He took a peek outside—it was probably around dinner time. “I’m not that hungry, though.” His stomach filled with dread at the thought of going to the Great Hall right now.

As if reading his mind, Harry stood up and offered him a hand. “Well, I am. And I’ve had quite enough of other people for one day—how about we go to the kitchens?”

“As in...where the elves work?”

“Yeah, you’ve never been there before?” Draco hadn’t. It never would have occurred to him to interact with house elves—he saw enough of the abuse that Dobby took from his father. He didn’t want to be rude to house elves like Lucius, but he didn’t know what level of civility they deserved either.

“No, I...house elves don’t generally like me. I just don’t want to bother them.” Draco got up and followed Harry.

“Dobby never mentioned he didn’t like _you_. I know he didn’t like your father. He was an odd one, but I miss him.” Harry looked wistfully at the walls.

“So...so he _is_ dead?” It was something Draco had suspected after seeing Aunt Bellatrix throw a dagger at the apparating elf, but he hadn’t heard it confirmed.

Harry stopped in his tracks. “Oh, shite. You didn’t know? Yeah, the dagger killed him.” Draco nodded and was silent for a moment. He wasn’t quite...sad, because it had been years since he spoke to or even really thought about his longtime house-elf. But he also regretted that his previous playmate was brutally murdered in that way. “We buried him,” Harry continued. “Gave him a nice gravestone and everything. I can tell you where it is if you want to go visit him sometime.”

Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Why would I want to visit a dead elf?”

Harry looked mildly offended, and Draco was filled with immediate and burning regret. He didn’t want to ruin the one good part about this day. “If you say so. Let me know if you change your mind.”

The next hour managed to calm Draco down quite a bit. Harry seemed to understand that Draco was finished discussing his parents’ imprisonment for now—goodness knows he would have to do so time and time again in the next few months. Instead they amicably remembered their youth. They went through each year telling stories about the ridiculous things that they used to do to antagonize each other. Draco even managed to eat about half a sandwich. As long as he was stern with himself and made sure to not think about his parents, he was alright. A smile and laugh or two even escaped his lips.

Approaching their dormitory, Draco stopped Harry in the middle of telling a tale. “H—Harry?” He used his first name again, testing it out. “Are we...er...would you say that we’re...” he wasn’t sure why he needed confirmation that their relationship was truly going in a positive direction. Everything was so unsure right now, and there were so few people available that could clarify his most muddled thoughts. Perhaps a friendship with Potter of all people would be something he could hold onto. A failure from his youth that he could finally correct. But asking the question itself felt as humiliating as it did in first year. “Are we...alright?” Draco finally settled on a lesser question than the one he really wanted to ask.

“You know, Malfoy,” Harry said Draco’s last name good-naturedly and shoved him teasingly. “I would even say we’re halfway to being mates. What a strange world it is.” And with a smile, Harry pushed open the door and walked toward where Hermione and Neville were playing Gobstones.

Draco was left with the echo of a smile as Blaise, Greg, and Daphne rushed at him, pulling him into Greg’s bedroom. They all spoke at once—

“Where have you been? I didn’t know where you were all day and—“

“—I could have sworn that something was wrong, especially when I got the letter that my dad’s sentence was extended—“

“—my mum said if you need someone to look after the Manor she’d be willing—“

“Wait,” Draco said, something that Greg blurted out registering with him. “Did you say your dad’s sentence was extended?”

“Yeah,” Greg didn’t look as traumatized by the bad news as Draco had been about his—though Draco was certainly more upset that Narcissa was in Azkaban than Lucius. “Something about a cover up. A lot of previous Death Eaters that had been forgiven are now back in Azkaban awaiting retrial. The ones that are already in Azkaban are now getting less privileges, stricter punishments. Something about the Nott family, I guess.”

“Did any of you guys hear from Theo this summer?” Daphne asked. The boys shook their heads. “Me neither. I’ve always felt something was a little off about him last year. We all knew what you two and Vincent were up to,” she addressed Draco and Greg. “But Theo was so...quiet. We rarely saw him, too.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “He wasn’t a Death Eater. I never saw him and the Dark Lord in the same room.”

“Does that mean he wasn’t a Death Eater, though? Maybe he had some sort of special assignment,” Blaise said thoughtfully.

“Well, what did you hear about the Notts exactly?” Draco asked Greg. 

Greg shrugged. “Nothing, really. My mum just sent me a letter telling me about Dad’s sentence, warning me to not have any communication with Theodore Nott. What about you, what’s happening with your parents?”

“Dunno,” Draco said, feeling a little sick again. He recounted his afternoon, filling in gaps where rumors couldn’t supply his friends with the knowledge they wanted. The hard parts were not any easier to talk about than they were in Auror Yarney’s office, and he had to steel himself against the bedpost multiple times, trying to draw strength to finish speaking. When he finished his story, all his friends were looking forlornly at the ground.

“So much for a fresh start, huh?” Blaise said morosely.

“How do you feel, mate?” Greg asked.

“I...I’m just thinking about my poor mum in there, you know? She’s been through so much. Now I don’t even know when I’ll get to talk to her again.” Draco’s eyes burned._ I should have written her sooner than this weekend_. He hadn’t time at Hogsmeade today to get her a present, but now it didn’t even matter—she wouldn’t be able to receive it. 

“She’s strong, Draco. You know that. Her love for you is the strongest part of her, too. She’ll make it through to see you again. I promise,” Daphne put a hand on Draco’s shoulder.

Draco lay back on Greg’s bed and listened as his friends talked about both incredibly large problems and meaningless things. Their voices lulled him to sleep, as his body wrestled with both an intense fear for his and his parents’ future, and an intense love for the people he still had in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhhh my poor boys. I love them so much. I also realized that this is the 13th chapter and we’re like a week into the school year, lol. My friends have been asking how long I’m planning on writing this fic, and I’m not even close to halfway! I hope you guys don’t get tired of it. Love to all, keep commenting what you like/want to see!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco visits the Mind Healer and witnesses some of Potter’s anger issues.

**Chapter 14**

Draco sat in the hard plastic chair in St. Mungo’s, waiting for his doom. The waiting room he was in had a small waterfall in the middle, likely in an attempt to soothe the occupants, but Draco was only made more anxious by the white noise. His leg bounced up and down, earning him glares from an old lady sitting across from him. He didn’t care—-he was about to see the Mind Healer for the first time and needed to get rid of any excess energy before his behavior was monitored. 

After all the chaos on Saturday, Draco couldn’t bear to get out of bed much on Sunday. His friends brought him food and tried to reassure him, but he didn’t have much of an appetite for either food or comfort. Harry gave him space during the day, but at night tried to engage in conversation. Draco was polite enough, but couldn’t bear to talk about anything serious. Part of him was just plain exhausted—he spent nearly the past three months in bed not speaking to anyone, so it had been quite an eventful week. The other part of him knew that he would have to save all his energy for this session today. His original plan was to refuse to speak to the Mind Healer, but now that he knew his probation was hanging on a thread, he would have to try and participate at least a little. 

“Mr. Malfoy?” A nice, middle-aged woman in a navy blue blazer came out of the trunk side door. Draco stood up, feeling shaky. She smiled at him and led him down a long hallway. Though this was St. Mungo’s, there was no medical smell. Rather, Draco could smell lavender in the air, which calmed him down a little during the short walk to the Mind Healer’s office. The room was comfortable enough—a nice plush couch awaited him with a chair for the Healer across from it. It was dimly lit but in a serene way, and motivational posters lined the walls along with accent, non-moving art pieces. “Please, take a seat,” the Healer said.

“My name is Christine. How are you today Draco—if I may call you Draco, that is.” 

“Sure. I’m fine.”

“Well, thank you for coming to see me. Professor McGonagall shared with me that you weren’t too keen on coming, so I appreciate you participating in this program anyway.” She spoke with a quiet voice, her eyes twinkling. She strangely reminded Draco of Professor Dumbledore.

“I didn’t have much of a choice, to be honest with you.”

She frowned. “Why is that?”

Draco held up his manacled wrist. “This is part of my probation. I was going to just sit here, too, and not say anything. But I don’t want my family to get in any more trouble than we already are. So, let’s just get this done, if you don’t mind.”

Christine smiled. “I’m afraid the process isn’t that straightforward. I know that as wizards and witches we always want a quick remedy—some potion to take, a healing spell...but the mind isn’t like that. And neither is all medicine, for that matter. My parents are therapists—“

“What?”

“Therapists, like Mind Healers for Muggles.” _Oh, so she’s a Muggleborn_. Draco squirmed uncomfortably at this realization. “Therapy has become quite common in the Muggle world.” Draco couldn’t help but scoff. _What problems could Muggles possibly have?_ “But, Draco, today I want to just ask you some questions and try and diagnose you so I can see how best I can help you during our time together.”

“I don’t have an illness, I went to Madame Pomfrey.”

“Not a physical one, no. But I imagine you’ve gone through some pretty damaging things in the last year.”

“Everyone has. It’s not a big deal,” Draco was feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

“Just because a lot of people have seen bad things doesn’t mean that the things you have seen haven’t affected you in a unique way,” Christine said. _I wonder where she was over the last year, being a Muggleborn_. “So tell me, how have you been doing lately? Have you enjoyed your time back at school?”

“Not really. I don’t think I would have gone if it hadn’t been for my probation.”

“What would you have done instead?”

Draco shifted in his chair, thinking about his extremely productive summer lying in bed all day doing nothing. “Probably take care of my mother. I dunno. Make sure she was alright.”

“Is that what you did this summer?” Draco made eye contact and glared at Christine—he wondered if she was using Occlumency, and make sure to actively close his mind. Her expression didn’t change. 

“Yes,” he said sternly.

“I see,” Christine said, though it was obvious she didn’t believe Draco. “Tell me, how is the eighth year project going? Building a memorial for the fallen...”

“It’s going well.”

“I remember reading that one of the students that passed was in your year. Vincent Crabbe, right? Were you two close?”

Draco felt sweat on his brow, the hot air constricting his throat. “Can—can you make it cooler in here?”

Christine looked at him with concern. “Of course,” she waved her wand. “Do you want some water?”

“No. I—“ Draco looked at the clock. Only five minutes had passed in their hour-long session. He looked at the door, wondering what would happen to him and his family if he bolted. 

“Draco, tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

_Why is the room so hot?_ Draco tugged on his shirt collar and removed his jacket. “Nothing. It’s just so damn hot in here.”

“I can cool it down a little bit more,” Christine waved her wand again. “But it seems as if you’re in distress. That’s normal, we’re talking about some pretty heavy stuff. I need to know what you’re going through, though, so that I know how to help.”

“I’ll tell you what I’m going through, then,” the heat wasn’t helping Draco’s anger. “This is literally the last place on Earth I want to be right now and the last thing I want to be doing, but I don’t have a choice because if I don’t sit here and talk to you, I might get chucked into Azkaban along with my parents. I wouldn’t even care if I got sent to Azkaban, but I don’t want them to punish my mother even more. So once again, I’m trapped in a goddamn room, and everyone’s acting like I have a choice in the matter even though I don’t. I never have. Even now that the war’s over, it’s like I’m out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Draco stopped to catch his breath, having ranted without taking one. He closed his eyes and clenched his fist. He felt as though he could feel the Fiendfyre inside the room. 

After a few moments, he opened his eyes. Christine looked at him with sympathy—he hated it. “That sounds like a lot. I’m really sorry you don’t want to be here. I understand why you don’t. Is there anything I can do?”

Draco looked at her with hope. “Can—can we just sit here, and you can give me a good report? That’s the only thing that will help any of this.”

To Draco’s surprise, Christine actually looked like she was considering this. “Well,” she said, hand on her chin. “No, we can’t just sit here and stare at each other for the next fifty minutes. But if you’d like, we can play a game to pass the time.”

“Sure. Whatever. Anything but talking.” Draco was incredibly relieved to be talking to a reasonable person. _A Muggleborn too—how about that?_

The rest of the time passed fairly smoothly. They played chess, which Draco quite enjoyed. It was quiet, but he had to focus hard enough so that he couldn’t think about anything else. Christine attempted to bring up some other things too, mostly about how he spent his time over the summer. She also asked broad questions about his social life at Hogwarts—if he had any friends, what he enjoyed doing, his favorite classes, etc. Grateful that she was letting them play a game instead of just talking, Draco tried to answer her questions as honestly as he could in return. 

Finally, the hour was up. “Well, Draco,” Christine leaned back in her chair. “I do think that you have something called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

Draco crinkled his nose. “I don’t have a Muggle disease,” he said derisively. 

“It is neither of those things, Draco. It is not a condition exclusive to Muggles and it is not a disease. It merely means that you have seen things that now adversely affect you in your day-to-day life. But it is entirely treatable, and we can have you feeling so much better.”

Draco wanted to believe her—he did want to feel better. He wanted to not freak out every time something mildly bad happened to him. He wanted to fall into bed at night not afraid of the nightmares that were to come. He wanted his energy back, he wanted his spirit back. “I don’t see how sitting here and talking to you for an hour a week will help me feel better.”

“It won’t, not entirely. There’ll be other measures that you should take in your daily life as well to help you.” She walked over to her desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment. “Here are some things to do to relieve anxiety.” Draco gave the paper a once over. It described breathing exercises, coping strategies, and even some yoga positions. “I’d like for you to keep this on your person at all times. That way, if you are confronted with an anxious situation, you’ll have something to do.” 

“Fine. Am I free to go?”

“Sure. I’ll see you back next week. Have a wonderful day, Draco.”

Draco mumbled a thanks and exited back to the front office where he Floo’ed back to school. He landed in Professor McGonagall’s office with a cough. 

“Welcome back, Mr. Malfoy. I trust you survived the experience?”

“Yes, Professor,” Draco said somewhat sheepishly. It really hadn’t been all that bad—he felt slightly embarrassed now for making such a fuss earlier. 

“Before you go,” Professor McGonagall handed him a sheet of paper. “Your lawyer dropped by, but I told him to come back at the same time tomorrow. He left you this form, though. If you want to visit your parents in Azkaban soon, you should give him this application when he comes. The sooner it is submitted, the better. He’ll be here at four in the afternoon.” 

Draco looked at the application, feeling some fear pulsing through him, but not as badly as before. “Thanks, Professor.”

The hallways were quiet as most everyone else was in classes or studying. Draco decided to go back to his room to look at the application in peace. He unfolded the sheet of paper as he sat at his desk. The application included some basic information, and then a spot to request individual visits with prisoners. He would have to see his mother and father separately.

Draco bit his lip as he filled out his mother’s name—he wanted to see her for sure. But what about Lucius? Draco wondered if he would be able to contain his anger if he saw his father. No—he should see his father; whatever wrath came out of him at that time was what Lucius deserved. He slammed the quill down and finished the application.

Draco sighed with exhaustion. It had already been a long day and it was barely dinnertime. He stole a glance at the stack of textbooks next to him—he really should do homework, but his head was swimming with the events of the day. One small nap wouldn’t hurt anything.

_BANG_! “Ah goddammit, Merlin’s saggy left—“

Draco bolt upright at the sound of something clattering. “Potter, what in the hell are you doing?”

Potter was hopping around on one leg. “I stubbed my toe on this stupid trunk!” He then kicked it in frustration with his uninjured foot.

“Well, that’ll help,” Draco drawled sarcastically. “Actually, why don’t you just cast Expelliarmus on the thing? That usually solves your problems.”

“I’m not in the mood.” Harry sat down sullenly on his bed, putting his head in his hands. It was now dark outside and Draco cursed quietly. _I didn’t mean to sleep for that long_. 

He sighed and walked over to sit on the trunk near Harry’s bed. “What’s got you all riled up, Potter?”

Harry didn’t respond for a moment, but kept rubbing his forehead. “I had a row with McGonagall.”

_What would that even look like?_ “Why?”

“I tried to drop out.”

“Drop out of school?”

“No, Malfoy, drop out of the Quidditch team. What do you think?” Draco flinched again at the use of his last name. _I should have never gotten used to Potter calling me Draco in the first place._

“I have two questions,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “First, why are you thinking about dropping out? And second, can you take me with you?”

That did get a small laugh out of Harry. “Well, I wasn’t successful in dropping out so you’d have to be on your own there, mate. No, I just—“ his smile disappeared. “It’s just that the Ministry is clearly struggling, you know? You were literally almost kidnapped and they’re more concerned about throwing your parents in Azkaban without a trial or solid evidence than they are about your safety. There are dozens of Death Eaters still around waiting to...well, I don’t even know! And that’s the problem! No one knows what they’re doing.”

“I get that’s frustrating, but what does that have to do with you?”

“I—I should be helping. I should be doing something. People have literally died because of me and where am I? Here at school, having a good old time with my friends. I should be out there, fighting—“

“Harry, you’ve fought enough. I guess if everything you’ve said is true, you’ve spent the past, what, four years fighting? Let other people help you for once. You deserve to be a normal student.”

“You—you called me Harry. You did that the other day, too.”

“Shut up.” Draco got up and began getting out his pajamas. 

“I didn’t even ask, though. Are you scared?”

“Scared of what?”

“That...that people may be after you.”

Draco thought for a moment. That wasn’t really what scared him about the whole situation. “No. I’m not.”

“Draco,” Harry said sympathetically. “I truly don’t want anything to happen to you. To any more students at this school,” he said quickly after the first sentence.

“Nothing is going to happen to me, Harry. But I’ll tell you what is going to happen to you,” Draco took off his shirt. “You’re going to have a great year here at school with everyone worshipping you, and you’re going to have fun spending time with your friends, then you’ll graduate and get whatever job you want immediately, but you’ll probably end up as a professor at this school because you can’t bear to leave this hellhole, and you’ll live happily ever after.” Though there were some quips in the picture of Harry’s future that Draco painted, he didn’t mean any of them in a bad way. “But not if you mess it up. So just relax for once in your life, alright?”

Harry smiled. “Thanks, mate. You too, you look like you could use some relaxing. Falling asleep at five in the afternoon...”

Draco scoffed. “All I did this summer was lay in bed and relax. I should be over that by now.” He slumped on his bed in frustration.

“Just give yourself whatever time you need. No pressure this year, all you gotta do is pass through.”

_No pressure this year—yeah right. Maybe for Potter._ But Harry’s intentions in saying that were good, and Draco was happy that he successfully finished another civil conversation with the Boy Who Lived. Harry turned out the lights and Draco got back under the covers, hoping that sleep would be the one thing that would come easy to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m thinking about making this a multiple series work. What do you guys think? It’s already like nearly 40k words and they’ve been through one week of school, lol. But I still have so much story to tell! Let me know.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a heart-to-heart with Goyle, works with Harry on their DADA project, and meets with his lawyer.

**Chapter 15**

Sleep, sadly, did not come easily to Draco that night. He tossed and turned for a bit, trying to calm himself using the sound of Potter’s even breathing and occasional mumbling. When he finally drifted off into sleep, fire consumed him. He was back in the Room of Requirement with Vincent, but this time Potter chose to fly away on his broom rather than save him. The Fiendfyre closed in on Draco, and every time he gasped for breath he inhaled the flames. He saw Greg and Vincent’s faces melt next to him, and he was next.

Before the fire was able to swallow him whole, he awoke gasping, his legs tangled in the sheets that were moist with his sweat. He broke free of the bonds and sat on the edge of the bed, willing himself not to throw up. The clock told him it was barely daybreak, but thankfully, early enough to justify getting up. Merlin knows Draco had mounds of homework to do anyway to pass the time.

After showering with the coldest possible water, Draco walked into the common room shivering. Plopping his school bag down on the nearest couch, he jumped at the unexpected sight of Greg sitting by the fire.

“What are you doing up so early, mate?”

Greg didn’t even turn around. “I could ask the same of you,” he said in a quiet voice.

Draco hesitated. It seemed that Greg was sad, but Draco knew he’d never been good at comforting people. The roaring fire made him uncomfortable as well. Swallowing, Draco settled on the floor next to Greg, staring into the flames. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“I—I dream about him a lot, too. That’s actually why I’m up,” Draco decided to admit. He assumed Greg was thinking about Vincent given his intense focus on the fire.

Draco looked at Greg in time to see a tear roll down his cheek, and then quickly looked away. “Draco, there’s something you don’t know.”

“What is it?” Draco’s heart pounded with anticipation.

“Vincent and I...we were planning to graduate together, live together, and...er...just have a life together.”

_Oh_. “Oh,” Draco said. He shouldn’t be surprised. Vincent and Greg spent nearly all of their free time together. Draco had never seen them kiss or anything, but they were always playfully shoving each other. Besides, Draco was too focused on himself to really notice what others were doing around him. “I—I think that would have been nice.”

Apparently this was the right thing to say, because Gregory Goyle nodded and smiled. “I know he was sort of aggressive toward the end, but underneath he was just a real softie. I promised him that as soon as we graduated we could get loads of pets. We’d move out of England, maybe to Italy or Greece, just to get away from our parents and all of it.”

“You wouldn’t have...er...done that on the side?”

“No,” Greg sniffed. “One thing that we promised each other is that we didn’t want to live half a life. Vince was like that anyway, it was always go big or go home. I just don’t know what I’m going to do with my life now.”

“I understand that,” Draco said quietly. As much as he didn’t want to be at Hogwarts, he was glad that he had a year until he had to really decide what he was going to do with his existence. “I’m really sorry that...that he passed. I know that it’s somewhat my fault.”

“It’s not, really. He was the one who cast the Fiendfyre. Besides, I doubt we would have all made it out of the Battle alive.” Greg sighed. “Thank you though, for your apology. Everything just feels so messed up right now, I don’t know how anything is going to end up being alright.”

Draco didn’t know what to say to that. He had no comforting words—how could he? His parents were in Azkaban, he was hanging on by a thread, and apparently former Death Eaters were out to capture him. For now, the most he could do was sit with Greg in this uncertain space. Both boys took comfort in knowing they were not alone.

“Alright,” Harry sat down with a sigh. “I guess I’m ready.”

“You look absolutely thrilled,” Draco quipped sarcastically.

“I’ve tried to learn Occlumency before. I’m telling you, it’s not going to work.” They were sitting in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, nestling in a corner with silencing spells blocking out the noise from the other working pairs. It was finally time to start teaching each other the skills they chose to specialize in, and Draco had begged Potter to go first. He wasn’t looking forward to facing the humiliation of not being able to cast a Patronus. 

“Professor Snape taught you, right?” Harry nodded. “He tried to teach me, too. Surprisingly, he wasn’t that good at explaining to me exactly what I needed to do. He was very skilled himself, but just couldn’t get the point across.”

“Who did teach you, then?” Harry looked confused. “Your mum?”

“It—doesn’t matter.” Draco didn’t want to admit that it was his Aunt Bellatrix who taught him Occlumency, and that she was actually a fantastic teacher. The only fault of hers, in Draco’s opinion, was excessive punishment. “Okay, take a deep breath and close your eyes.”

“And empty my mind, I know.” Harry already sounded frustrated.

“Actually, no. That’s not the best way to start—trying to empty your mind is truly very difficult. First, we’re going to start with you trying to show me a very specific memory. Think about...hmmm...think about your first Quidditch game here.” A small smile shone on Harry’s face as he leaned back and closed his eyes. “Think about what you felt. What you smelled, what you heard. The feeling of walking onto the pitch, the wind in your face as you flew through the air. Stop at that point—don’t think about the whole game. Just think about walking onto the pitch, anything Wood or your other teammates said to you during the huddle, and the start of the game.” 

Draco was silent as he gave Harry a few moments to bask in the memory. Finally, he took out his wand, which the Professor had given him access to beforehand. “_Legilimens_,” he said as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb Potter’s concentration.

The classroom around Draco faded away as he was sucked into Harry’s memory. How young they all looked—he could see the excitement and nervousness on the small Boy-Who-Lived’s face as he walked onto the pitch, hand shaking slightly as it held the broom. The vision wavered a few times, but for the most part, the memory played clearly. Once it ended and the vision began to blur into a cascade of Potter’s other thoughts, Draco stepped back into himself.

“That was good! It was clear, and you started it and ended it at the right time.”

“Wow, high praise coming from you,” Harry rubbed at his forehead, but looked somewhat proud. 

They practiced a few more times with other simple memories. Draco tried to bring up neutral memories that he shared with Potter to check whether the young man was doing Occlumency correctly. He and Potter watched their younger selves duel together in second year, looked as they trampled through the Forbidden Forest while serving detention (but stopped before they witnessed what they later found out to be the Dark Lord drinking unicorn blood). Revisiting some of these memories felt good—they were both laughing, and Harry seemed a lot more relaxed, making him able to perform better. 

“Alright, now we should try—“

“Oh, no. It’s been half an hour. It’s your turn,” Harry got up and gestured for Draco to sit in his place.

“But you still haven’t mastered—“

“I’m not supposed to master anything today, we still have a whole month before we have to present! Your turn. Sit down,” he said firmly.

Draco sat in the hard wooden chair, feeling just as uncomfortable as he did waiting for the Mind Healer the previous day. He really didn’t want to fail in front of Potter. He couldn’t help but feel a little angry—Potter should _know_ that he wouldn’t be able to do this. The Boy Who Lived was good at so many things, but he specifically picked something that he knew Draco couldn’t do. Supposedly he said that Snape successfully produced a Patronus despite his Death Eater status, but Snape was one of the greatest wizards Draco had ever known. How was Draco supposed to replicate that when he had trouble performing even simple spells with his new wand?

“Alright,” Harry took a deep breath as though he had done this before. “Producing a Patronus is actually a little similar to Occlumency. You have to _feel_ a memory, let it fill you up inside. Instead of trying to shove everything down like you do when you empty your mind, you have to puff everything up. So, what are some of your happiest memories?”

“Er...” Draco was silent for a few moments as he thought. Harry looked concerned. “Well of course I have a lot. It’s hard to choose one,” Draco said defensively.

“Of course,” Harry said awkwardly. “I had to go through a few different ones before I settled on the perfect memory. I don’t expect you to produce anything near a full Patronus today. It took me months.”

Draco felt a little better at Harry’s low expectations, but also somewhat offended. Satisfied, he sighed. “I guess some of the early Christmases at the Manor.”

“Tell me about one of them.”

Draco smiled as he let the memory wash over him. “When I was seven, I woke up to the smell of cinnamon rolls that Dobby had made. I ran downstairs, and there were mounds and mounds of presents under the tree. My parents were up and snuggling on the couch. I got everything I wanted that year, but that wasn’t even the best part. It was snowing just the right amount, and it wasn’t too cold. My friends came over and we all went sledding together and had a big snowball fight. It must have been hours before we came inside shivering in our wet clothes, but my mother had hot chocolate ready for us all. Then all the families gathered to the Manor, not for a formal gala or anything, but just to have dinner together and spend time chatting. After dinner, my friends and I all fell asleep on the couch. My mother still has the picture of us sprawled next to each other. My father carried me to bed and tucked me in once everyone else had left. I think he thought I was sleeping, so he whispered that he loved me, which was rare for him.” As he told the story, Draco had somewhat lost track of where he was and who he was with. He blushed as he met Potter’s beaming face.

“That sounds amazing,” Potter said, but then frowned. “I’m not sure it’ll be enough, though. Maybe the last part about your father.”

“Blimey, Potter, you want me to do better than that?” Draco complained. “I consider that one of my best days ever!”

“Yeah, but these sort of memories have to be very...concentrated. It has to fill you with really intense happiness. We can give it a try, though. Stand up and take out your wand.” Draco complied. Harry showed him the hand motion for casting the spell. “Now, close your eyes and let everything you just told me flow through you. Don’t think about the details of the day, though. Think about the feeling, let it build inside of you. Think about how happy you were and how loved you felt. And when you’re ready, cast the spell.”

It was odd to actually try and experience so much emotion. Draco spent the entire summer trying to swallow everything down and sit in the numbness. But Draco tried to listen to Potter, and let the feeling of his father’s love in particular ease over him. “_Expecto Patronum_!” he said grandiosely, and opened his eyes. Absolutely nothing happened. There wasn’t a hint of smoke or fog, not a sign of anything magical. Draco glared at his wand.

“Don’t be discouraged—that’s completely normal. We’ll keep trying, and you’ll get it somehow.”

And they did keep trying, but Draco was unsuccessful every time. They tried using a different memory, tried different hand motions, even cast different spells after a while to make sure that Draco’s magic hadn’t suddenly left him completely. Finally, Draco shoved his wand back in his pocket.

“I told you, Potter. Death Eaters can’t cast Patronuses.” Draco glanced at the clock as Potter opened his mouth to argue. It was a quarter to four—he would have to leave in order to meet with his lawyer in time. “I have to go.” Draco left Potter looking sympathetically at him as he snatched up his bag and stalked out of the room.

He stormed up to Professor McGonagall’s office, feeling extremely irritated at the lack of progress he made today in comparison to the amount of success Potter had at Occlumency. _You’re useless. You’ve cast dozens of Unforgivables successfully, but aren’t even human enough to cast a Patronus of any sort._ Working to push down the negative emotions, Draco took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Draco heard Professor McGonagall say. “Hello, Mr. Malfoy.” Draco mumbled a hello and took a seat next to his family lawyer, Mr. Burke. Mr. Burke had been the Malfoy family lawyer since Draco’s grandfather Abraxas’s time, and he was a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood families. His distant relative helped found Borgin and Burke’s, a store that Draco visited many times in his sixth year to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. Mr. Burke had worked in the Magical Law department for nearly forty years and was now nearing retirement, but put it off to help the Malfoys after the Battle, having escaped from the War unscathed himself. He looked worn and tired, but gave Draco a small smile.

“I’ll be in my quarters grading papers should you need me,” Professor McGonagall said, and took her leave through the back door.

“Hello, Draco. How are you?”

“Fine, thank you. I have the application to see my parents,” Draco handed Mr. Burke the form. He put it in the inside pocket of his coat.

“Hopefully the Wizengamot will approve this late this week. You could be seeing them as soon as next week, but it could also take as long as next month.” Draco shuddered at the thought of his mother being in Azkaban for a month.

“When do you think they’ll have their retrial?”

Mr. Burke sighed and ran a hand over his thinning hair. “Hopefully soon. I don’t even know much, the Aurors are keeping it so under wraps. They have Dolohov now and have been trying to get information from him, but he’s been slow to give it. There’s also business going on with the Notts. Have you had any contact with Theodore Nott?”

“Not at all.”

“Well, keep it that way. You shouldn’t be tied up in any more of this than you need to be.”

“What exactly is happening? What have the Notts done?”

“The less you know, boy, the better. However, it is very likely that you will end up becoming the official head of the Malfoy household before long. Either your father is going to get an extended imprisonment in Azkaban or will get most of his titles and privileges revoked. You should meet with a financial advisor at Gringotts to start transferring everything to be in your name. The most important thing you can do now is protect yourself and your family as best as you can.”

“What about my mother? Do you know if she’s alright?”

“I know both your parents are alive, and that’s about it. I meet with them tomorrow. I’ll send you a letter if they ask me to pass anything along to you. Do you have anything you want me to say to them?”

Draco wasn’t expecting this direct of a question. “Just...just tell my mother I love her, and I’ll hopefully see her soon.”

Mr. Burke looked at Draco strangely, probably expecting him to say something about Lucius. “Alright,” he finally said. “Lastly, and this is very important Draco: is there anything that you know about your parents’ circumstances that you should tell me? Something I don’t already know?”

Draco racked his brain. It was hard to remember what all he confessed to doing in those hazy days right after the battle. But given that he didn’t care much about self-preservation at the time, he was sure that he told Mr. Burke and the Wizengamot everything they needed to know. “I don’t think so.”

“Well enough. I’ll be taking my leave then,” Mr. Burke stood up with a grunt and took his briefcase. “You’ll be hearing from me soon. In the meantime, stay on Hogwarts grounds, inside when you can. Stay out of trouble. Whatever anyone like Potter or Granger or anyone favored by the Ministry tells you to do or say, just do it. Don’t pick any fights, and don’t get too close to people like Goyle or Zabini. Stay quiet and hidden—out of sight, out of mind. It’s your responsibility to protect your family now. One misstep and this could all go downhill really quick. You can do all that, can’t you, boy?” 

Mr. Burke gave Draco a solid pat on the shoulder, making Draco have to suppress a shudder. “Of course,” he said, standing up straight as a Malfoy should.

And with that, Draco was left alone in Professor McGonagall’s office. Mr. Burke’s words echoed in his head. _Stay hidden. Don’t get too close to people like Goyle or Zabini._ Just when he was starting to get comfortable at Hogwarts, he now was told to retreat back into his former self. He wanted to protect his mother more than anything. If he had to stay in his bedroom for the better part of his school days to do that, so be it. It wasn’t any different than what he did all summer, and what he would likely have to do for the rest of his life. Why he ever thought he could have friends like Goyle and even Potter, he had no idea. 

_That’s it. I’m going to stop being stupid. I’ve been too reckless, too selfish. It’s time to keep my head down and do what needs to be done._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being a bit of a longer one, but I’m sure you guys don’t mind! I have a busy weekend so the next one may be delayed until Sunday or Monday. I think I will split this up into different parts of a series. Thank you for all your feedback, I absolutely love it and love you guys!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco visits his parents in Azkaban

**Chapter 16**

Draco made it through the rest of the week with a new resolve to follow Mr. Burke’s instructions as much as possible, for his mother’s sake. At first he tried not to arouse suspicion by completely ignoring Daphne, Blaise, and Greg. Rather, he attempted a slow break. He feigned tiredness or having to do a lot of homework at most meal times. This did not bode well for his checkup with Madame Pomfrey at the end of the week. She was very displeased that he had lost weight once again, and forced more nutrition potions down his throat. 

“I want to see you back in another week, Mr. Malfoy. If you don’t gain weight, I’ll have to insist that you eat your meals here in the Hospital Wing,” she had said disapprovingly.

Draco couldn’t decide how he felt about that. For one, it would give him an excuse not to be around his friends. But it would also spark concern in them, and they potentially wouldn’t leave him alone. He decided to attempt to go to the kitchen every once and a while to stock up on some essentials inside his room.

Though he was adept at secrecy, his behavior did not go unnoticed by the other Slytherins. One evening he heard Blaise and Goyle talking in the hallway while he was brushing his teeth in the bathroom.

“I don’t know what happened. I had a conversation with him a short while before he started acting oddly,” Greg whispered. “We talked about some heavy stuff, and since we were talking about Vince I told him I was gay. Do you think that’s why he’s being all weird?”

“Why would that make him weird? He _is_ gay,” Blaise reassured Greg. “I’m sure he’s just going through one of his moods; you know how he can be. You didn’t do anything wrong and I’m sure he’s not upset with you. If he’s not all sorted out by next week, we’ll talk to him.”

Draco felt guilty that the thought even entered Greg’s mind that Draco may be upset with him. Of course he wasn’t mad that Greg and Vincent had a relationship. If anything, it filled him with intense joy that his friend got to experience that kind of happiness, and then just as intense a sadness that Vincent’s death took that happiness away. 

With his friends not planning to confront him until next week, Draco only had one person to worry about in the current time frame. Potter certainly noticed Draco’s thinning figure and self-imposed isolation in their bedroom. In fact, a situation like the following had occurred multiple times throughout the week:

Potter would enter their bedroom during a mealtime and say: “Malfoy, you’re coming with me.”

Draco, usually sitting at his desk doing homework that wasn’t due for weeks, would respond, “No, thank you.” He would rather have been rude, but Mr. Burke’s words echoed in his mind: “_Whatever Potter tells you to do...just do it._” This was a compromise in Draco’s opinion—refusing politely.

“Come on,” Potter would continue. “You look like you haven’t eaten in days. I haven’t seen you at the Great Hall, and I’ve only seen you in this bedroom and our classrooms. What’s going on?”

“I’m fine, Potter. I just have a lot of work. None of your concern,” Draco would respond cooly.

There was only one incident in which Potter pushed the situation further. To Draco’s horror, Potter sat on his bed. Draco kept writing, trying to ignore him. “Is this about the Patronus situation?” Draco stopped scribbling and clenched his fist in anger. “You’ll get it, Draco, I promise. And tell you what—if you still can’t do it after a few weeks, I’ll switch to something else that we can do in front of the class. I’m not out to get you or anything—“

“Potter, for once this has nothing to do with you. I know it’s hard to imagine the world not revolving around the great Savior, but do yourself a favor and relax.” To Draco’s great disappointment, Harry left him alone after that. 

The only other eventful thing that happened during that week was Draco receiving a letter from Mr. Burke.

_Draco,_

_ I visited with your parents yesterday in Azkaban. They are both tired and shaken, as to be expected. Your mother is in better health than your father. Your father is having difficulties focusing, seems to be extremely paranoid, and will likely not be able to testify properly at his retrial if he is in Azkaban for much longer._

_ I am trying to get both of them out of Azkaban by making the argument that any more time spent there may corrupt the memories that they currently have of events from which they are accused of withholding information. It remains to be seen whether the Aurors will accept this line of thinking._

_ Your application for visiting your parents has been approved. You will visit them on Sunday at noon—go to the Headmaster’s office at this time to meet the Auror that will supervise your visit._

_ Finally, I passed along the message from your mother. She told me to tell you she loves you, and not to worry about anything. Your_ _father appeared distressed that you did not have a message for him._

_ I hope you have as pleasant of a visit in Azkaban as possible. Do not discuss anything related to the retrial or the events of last year with your parents—remember that an Auror will be present at all times during the visits. Also, remember what I told you about staying out of trouble._

_ Regards, _   
_ Mr. Burke | Department of Magical Law_

Draco straightened his tie as he looked in the mirror. Sunday had finally come again, and he was preparing to visit his parents in Azkaban. The eighth year dormitory was blissfully quiet as people were out enjoying the fresh autumn air. None of his friends or Potter knew where Draco was going today, or what he was doing. Part of Draco was upset that no one seemed to care. The more rational part of him realized this made sense given that he had been ignoring everyone for the past week.

With a sigh, Draco walked up to Professor McGonagall’s office. He had to stop by the restroom twice during the journey to vomit up his nervousness—though he was mostly just dry heaving by the end of his second stop. Unhelpfully, the Auror waiting for him in the Headmistress’s office was Yarney. The young man looked just as unhappy to see Draco as Draco was him. “Come on then, we don’t have all day,” Yarney sighed as he held out his arm to Draco. Draco took it, then felt as though he were being squeezed through a small tube as they apparated to Azkaban.

This did not help Draco’s already unsettled stomach, and he fell to his knees and heaved near the ocean. The freezing salt water spraying on his face exacerbated his shaking. Yarney and Draco had landed on a small island next to the looming Azkaban prison. It had a dock with small rowboats and a building into which Yarney dragged Draco after he collected himself.

“Afternoon, Yarney,” a bored wizard sat at the only desk inside. Draco took a seat in a hard waiting chair across from the desk and gazed around at the room. Massive filing cabinets filled the areas he could see, and there were hallways leading to other rooms as well as a staircase. Though far from the Dementors, the wizard’s Patronus (a leaping squirrel) kept any effects from reaching the building’s occupants. Still shaking, Draco was glad that this office space kept out the cold. 

“Afternoon. I’m here for a visit to Z7I2 and Z7I3.”

“Application number?” The wizard got up and started poking through the file cabinet behind him.

“5798.” The wizard retrieved the application, then stamped it. After Yarney signed some paperwork, the wizard handed him two cloaks. 

“Take boat 4, and bring the cloaks back when you’re finished.”

Yarney mumbled a thanks and tossed the lighter colored cloak to Draco. “Put this on.”

Draco put the cloak on over his suit, and felt a little weakened, but much warmer. “What is this?” 

Yarney opened the door and gestured for Draco to follow him outside. “Magic suppressor. It keeps you from performing any magic, but it also dampens the effects of the Dementors.”

The two men boarded what was apparently boat number four and started making their way to the giant structure ahead. Draco could see the shapes of the Dementors flying around the Azkaban prison. He knew that Minister Shacklebolt was thinking about expelling the creatures from the area, but that he had run into many institutional roadblocks. Draco wished more than anything that all this was happening even just a year from now so that Shacklebolt’s reform could pass. 

The ten minute boat ride passed in silence. When they got within sight of the shore, Yarney cast his own Patronus—but made a point to keep it close to himself. Draco couldn’t even remember the last few minutes of the ride. The Dementors pulled him into a darker place, and visions of screaming people that he tortured last year stood out among his muddled thoughts.

Draco was literally jerked to attention as the boat made contact with the land. Yarney got out of the boat with ease, but Draco stumbled as his legs were shaking so badly. Yarney sighed, rolled his eyes, and grabbed Draco’s arm. The proximity to Yarney’s silver owl Patronus helped Draco focus. _You’re here for Mother. You can’t let her worry, can’t show anything you’re feeling._

The two men stopped at the entrance to the prison. “Put this on,” Yarney handed Draco a blindfold. When Draco hesitated, he added “You can’t know the layout of the prison, and it’s easier than Obliviating you at the end. I’ll help you walk to the visiting room.”

Draco complied and Yarney guided him into Azkaban. He wasn’t sure if it was just the Patronus or if there were no Dementors around, but he didn’t sense any particular change as they entered the prison. He felt the same amount of cold and fear, though his spine tingled every time he heard a scream from above. He listen closely for his mother’s scream, having become quite familiar with it over the past year, but was grateful not to hear it. Thankfully the pair didn’t have to climb any stairs—after a few minutes of walking, Draco was led into a room that helped shut out the horrifying cries from the prisoners. 

Yarney shoved Draco roughly into a chair, then pulled the blindfold off. Draco blinked for a few moments, adjusting to his surroundings. The room he was in had a greenish tinge from moss growing on the walls. It was freezing in here, and only got colder with each step Yarney took away from Draco. There were metal plates on the ground—presumably to hold chains in place for prisoners—and a simple table in front of Draco with another chair. The room was barren apart from that. 

“Wait here. I’m going to retrieve the prisoners.” Yarney took himself and his Patronus outside of the room and locked Draco in.   
  
Draco was now starting to feel the lingering effects of the Dementors. He willed himself not to have a panic attack here, but his breathing was becoming more and more rapid. Yarney could just leave him in this room to die if he wanted, and there would be nothing Draco could do about it. Draco laughed to himself—a fitting punishment for someone who housed multiple people in their basement dungeon for the better part of last year. 

Were these thoughts real, or a product of the Dementors’ influence? Draco almost felt the need to slap himself, but pinched some skin on his arm instead. The world came back into focus. _Think about your mother. She needs you sane here_. If the Dementors were bothering him this much when they were at least a floor apart from him, how were his parents feeling?

After what seemed like ages but was probably only a few minutes, Draco saw a flash of blond hair. Yarney entered the room with Narcissa and shut the door behind him, the glow of his Patronus brightening the room. 

“Mother!” Draco stood up. 

“You’re not allowed to touch her, sit back down,” Yarney said sternly.

“You wouldn’t want to anyway, my dragon, it’s been days since I’ve had a bath,” Narcissa smiled kindly but tiredly at Draco. _I would want to hug her even if she hadn’t cleaned up for years_. While Yarney was making sure Narcissa’s chains were secured, Draco took the time to truly look at his mother. She had certainly lost weight, but didn’t look skeletal. Her face was the palest Draco had ever seen it, and she had dark circles under her eyes. However, Draco could still see the same spark in her as he had always been able to, even if that spark was dimmer now. He felt intense relief to actually see her and know that she was still alright. 

Finally Yarney stood back. “You have ten minutes.”

_Ten minutes?_! Now Draco was regretting that he didn’t prepare a little better. But Narcissa wasted no time. “How are you my darling? You look thin.”

“I’m fine, Mother, please don’t worry about me. I was actually preparing to write you a letter last weekend about what I’ve been up to, but...”

“That’s okay Sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay, I just know it. I’m so happy to see you. You’re doing okay? Is school going well? Are people treating you alright?” Narcissa fired off questions, one after another.

Draco explained to her that everything was fine. He told her he was roommates with Potter but that it wasn’t so bad. He left out his attack from the Ravenclaw student and instead claimed that the other students mostly ignored him. 

Narcissa’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so glad you’re safe, Dragon. You could have—“ she sobbed, something that Draco had not seen her do in a long time. “D-Dolohov, he could have—“ she pressed her hands hard to her eyes, mirroring what Draco usually does when he doesn’t want to show emotion.

“He didn’t, Mother. I’m right here. As long as I’m at Hogwarts, I’m safe.”

“Yes,” Narcissa said to herself. “Yes, and you need to stay at Hogwarts, do you hear me? No more Hogsmeade trips, at least not for a while. I know that’s probably not how you want to spend your eighth year, all cooped up in your room, but I promise you it will be worth it once all this is over.”

Draco felt like his heart was breaking—this was all supposed to be over already. After a few more minutes of precious conversation, Yarney gave the two of them a one-minute warning.

“Oh, Draco. I love you so much. You don’t even know. I love you. And please, be kind to your father.”

Draco looked down at his hands. “I will, Mother. I love you too.”

When Yarney walked over to take Narcissa back to her cell, Draco nearly attacked him. “Please, just a few more minutes,” he begged. “Please, I’ll do anything,” he was close to sobbing.

“Dragon, it’s okay. I’ll see you soon. I love you.” Yarney didn’t say a word as Narcissa took one final glance at her son before the door was shut and Draco was locked in once again.

Draco collapsed back into the chair, sobbing. The absence of the Patronus did not help him control his emotions either, and he dug his nails so hard into his arm that blood trickled onto the borrowed cloak. Draco knew he had to pull it together before his father came in, though. He sniffed and held his breath until he was able to stop crying, the room spinning around him. He used all the techniques Aunt Bellatrix had taught him to empty his mind.

It seemed like Yarney was taking a lot longer than he had to bring his mother. The same sort of panic set into Draco—what if Yarney left him here in this cold, dark place? Finally the door creaked open and Yarney led in the figure that was supposed to be Lucius Malfoy. Draco couldn’t help but gawk—his father was nearly unrecognizable. All the weight he had gained back this summer was gone, and his face was skeletal. The expression on his face was the worst part—Draco’s father was glaring at him with a hatred in his eyes that Draco had rarely seen. The gaze was so intense that even with Lucius’s frail body, Draco was grateful he was in chains.

Lucius was reluctant to move to the seat. “I don’t want to see him,” he croaked.

“You gave up being able to decide for yourself a long time ago. Now sit.” Yarney pushed him roughly into the chair and set his chains in place.

“F—Father?” Draco said the greeting like a question—he was that unsure of the man sitting across from him.

“You’re no son of mine,” Lucius growled. His eyes looked a little glassy and unfocused but his anger clearly ran deep. “I bet you’re happy, aren’t you? Now you’ve got access to the Malfoy fortune. I bet this is what you’ve wanted this whole time. Pouting all summer like some sort of a child. You’ve always been pathetic, but I gave you so many chances to prove me wrong. And now you’ve put your mother and I in prison.” Lucius laughed. “Maybe you aren’t as stupid as I thought you were.”

“W—what? Father, I don’t want you or mum in prison—“ Draco was left stuttering and grasping for the right words. He had never seen his father like this. Was it because of the Dementors, or was this what his father really thought of him?

“You could have been something, Draco. We hired private tutors for you, made sure you were socialized with the right people, and gave you every opportunity. And what did you do with it? You were continuously second or third in your class at school—behind a _Mudblood_. And then, the one chance you had to actually protect your family, and you couldn’t even kill an old man. At least my failures weren’t a result of incompetence.”

“Father, listen to me. I’m not sure you’re thinking clearly—“

“Oh, this is the most clearly I’ve thought in years. All the hard work I concentrated into putting the Malfoys back to prestige in the Wizarding World, torn away in one second by you. Tell me, Draco, what exactly were you and Potter doing on that bench in Hogsmeade when Dolohov discovered you? I’ve always known you weren’t going to be a proper husband to any woman, but I never thought you would choose a companion deliberately to stain the family name.”

Draco was shocked and somewhat embarrassed that his father brought up Harry. “Potter and I are roommates, Father. That’s it and that’s all we’ll ever be. I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“Your actions say otherwise. I have nothing more to say to you. My only advice at this point is to try not to mess things up any more than you already have, though I know that will be impossible for you.”

“Father, please. I care about you and Mother—I promise I’m going to get you out of here. Both of you. Then you’ll feel better. I’m going to make you proud, I swear to you. Everything is going to be okay.”

“You could never make me proud.” Lucius glanced at Yarney. “Are we finished here?”

Yarney looked to Draco who swallowed and nodded. As his father left without a backwards glance, Draco knew that the chill deep in his body wasn’t from the Dementors anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sad :( We’ll have to make sure there’s some fluff next chapter! As always, let me know what you guys think. Lots of love!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for blood and violence.
> 
> Draco deals with the aftermath of his Azkaban visit and has a terrible nightmare

**Chapter 17**

Draco later found that he had no recollection of how he got out of Azkaban—he was that much in shock over his father’s behavior. Certainly Lucius had been rough on him before, but not like that. He sounded close to disowning Draco, or attacking him. Draco used to admire his father greatly, and though that pride in his family had decreased heavily over the past two years, he had never seen his father so...pathetic, in the most literal sense of the word. Lucius Malfoy was a shell of his former self, and Draco wasn’t sure that his father would ever regain his old personality. Draco knew that Lucius was heavily affected by the Dementors, yet over the next few days the thought lingered in his mind: how much of what Lucius said did he truly believe?

When Draco was next aware of his surroundings, he was in the Hospital Wing. He still felt chilled over his whole body, but he was covered in blankets. Faint sunset light streamed through the Hospital Wing windows. Draco sat up gently—he didn’t seem to be injured. He struggled to remember what happened to lead him here.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Madame Pomfrey tutted as she noticed he was awake. “It’s good to see that you’re up.” She brought him a steaming cup of hot chocolate. “Drink up, this will help with the residual effects from the Dementors.”

_Dementors_? All of a sudden everything came flooding back to Draco in a whirlwind. Seeing his mother in Azkaban, the way his father’s glare pierced every part of him...Draco’s hand trembled as he took the mug from Madame Pomfrey. “What time is it?”

“About seven or so in the evening,” Madame Pomfrey said. “You came back about two hours ago and promptly fainted in Professor McGonagall’s office. She brought you down here.”

_How humiliating_. “Alright. Thanks for the hot chocolate. I’ll be going now.”

Madame Pomfrey stopped him from getting up. “I know that you’re not technically injured, but I think you should stay here for the night. I can give you some Dreamless Sleep potion.”

The offer was tempting, but Draco knew that not returning to his room would arouse suspicion. The last thing he needed was Potter trying to follow him again. “I’m alright. I appreciate it.”

Draco felt quite numb as he walked back up to the eighth grade dormitory. His muscles were aching as though he had aged while in Azkaban even for that short amount of time. He had to lean on the stair railings heavily, shivering and feeling feverish. Thankfully he found the common area to be blissfully empty of anyone who would care where he had been—it was only a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws playing a game in the corner. 

Draco entered his bedroom, where the curtains were shut and it was pitch black. The darkness reminded him of the prison somehow, and his breath caught in his throat. He began to shake even more wildly, and he couldn’t help but let a sob escape him. He had no way to turn on the lights using magic, so he tried to make his way to the curtain in the dark to let in some of the approaching moonlight. Tears were streaming down his face, and he was trying extremely hard to keep it together until he could muffle his cries with his pillow.

Unfortunately in the process of walking toward the window, he banged his foot on his trunk, making a thudding sound. “Draco?” He jumped at Harry’s voice. The lights came on and he found Harry sitting up in his bed, glasses off, as if he had just woken up. “Are you alright?”

Draco quickly turned away from Potter to hide his upset expression. “I’m fine, Potter,” he said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. “Why are you in bed?”

“Oh,” he said sheepishly. “I’ve been cut off from Dreamless Sleep, so I’ve been having some issues sleeping lately. I just wanted to take a nap before working on some papers.”

“Well, don’t let me disturb you,” Draco said, moving toward his desk but not quite knowing what to do. He still felt Harry’s eyes on him.

“What happened?” Harry said quietly. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

Draco didn’t respond but heard movement behind him. All of a sudden something was covering him and he tried to throw it off.

“Easy! It’s just my blanket. Here, sit down.” Harry wrapped Draco in the blanket and eased him onto the bed. “What happened?” he asked again.

Draco swallowed. He didn’t want to talk about it at all, didn’t want to tell Harry anything about what he heard or saw. But he also felt as though he were going to explode or be crushed under the weight of his own thoughts. Besides, Harry wasn’t going to leave him alone anyway. “I—I went to Azkaban today.”

“To see your parents?” Harry prompted quietly, sitting with Draco on his bed. 

Draco nodded. “I—“ his heart rate was starting to increase and his breathing turned to hyperventilating. He felt Potter hesitantly place a hand on his back. Draco flinched at first, but Harry started to make small circles with his palm and Draco eased into the touch. 

After a few moments of this and of sipping on some water that Harry conjured, Draco felt he could speak again. “My mother is...fine, I guess. As well as she can be. My father, though...” And through sobs, Draco told Harry every awful thing that his father said to him. He told Harry how paranoid his father looked, how Lucius looked at him like he was an abomination.

Finally he finished his story and was gasping, Harry still rubbing circles on his back. “Malfoy,” Harry said, causing Draco to look at him suddenly—he didn’t often use Draco’s last name. “That’s awful. I’m serious. You don’t deserve that.”

Draco scoffed. “I just wonder if...if it’s the Dementors’ effect or if he...”

“I’m sure he doesn’t really think that about you. I’m sure of it. I hate the guy but he isn’t...that.” Harry said. “That must have been really hard to see your parents like that. Do you know when they’ll get out?”

Draco shook his head. “I have no idea. My lawyer isn’t telling me anything, no one is.” He pressed his palms against his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry to disturb your nap, Potter. Thanks for listening to my tale of woe. I can pay you for your time, if you’d like.”

“What? No, of course not. This is what friends do.” 

Draco whipped his head around to look at Harry. Harry raised an eyebrow at Draco, as though puzzled by his confusion. “Um...yeah,” Draco nodded and gave a small smile. “Yeah it is.”

Harry patted Draco on the back and stood up. Draco was surprised by how much he felt the absence of Harry’s hand on his back. “Well, might as well do some homework now that I’m up. Care to join me?”

Draco already had most of his work done from his week in isolation. He also knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything right now. “I’m alright. I’m going to try and get some rest. Here’s your blanket back.”

Harry stared and Draco’s outstretched hand, but didn’t take the blanket. “Hold on to it for now, I mostly sweat at night anyway.”

“Oh. Well, thanks,” Draco said as Harry left. For some inexplicable reason, he held the blanket to his face and smelled it. Potter’s lingering scent served to give him some sort of comfort...horrified with himself, Draco shook his head and threw the blanket to the side. 

He felt a little less cold than he did when the first got back, but he couldn’t shake his father’s words out of his head. He was confused—if anything, Lucius had always been upset with Draco for his lack of interest in his father’s business dealings. Now Lucius accused Draco of wanting his parents in Azkaban so he could have the Malfoy family fortune. _Maybe it is truly the Dementors disturbing his thinking. Or maybe it’s a little of both—he’s going insane _and_ he hates me. _

Draco’s mind was a pendulum, whooshing back and forth between a universe of an insane Lucius and a universe of a lucid one, and he paced along with his racing thoughts. After about an hour of back-and-forth across the room, he heard a knock at the door. Opening it, he found the three other Slytherins all with their arms crossed, glaring at him. 

“You’re a right prat, you know.” Blaise began.

Draco’s heart sank. His friends were right to be angry with him, and their anger was even part of his plan to drive them away, but he wasn’t sure he could take any more berating today. “What do you mean?” he said evenly, as if he had no idea what they were talking about.

“Potter told us that you visited your parents today. You weren’t going to tell us about that?”

Draco looked at the ground, unable to think of a response. “I know you guys are upset with me, and you should be, and—“

“Upset with you? No, you’re not a right prat to us—well, sometimes you are I guess. But you’re mostly a prat to yourself. What, did you think that we’d just forget about you if you ignored us?”

Greg shook his head. “We’re not giving up on you, mate. And we’re not going to let you give up on us, either.” Daphne murmured agreement.

To Draco’s horror, once again his eyes filled with tears. Nothing was going right anyway—his parents were in Azkaban, he couldn’t do magic...Mr. Burke was asking him to do the impossible by making everything better again. If everything was going downhill, he may as well enjoy himself along the ride. 

And so, Draco invited his friends into his room and back into his life. They talked for hours about things both large and small, and he felt his heart grow with the ebb and flow of the conversation. Possibly the new family the remaining Slytherins had made would fill the gap in his heart that his parents once occupied.

* * *

_Everyone looked in stunned silence as the large group of captives Apparated along with Dobby the elf. Draco’s ears were still ringing from the glass chandelier falling to the ground, the perfect metaphor for the Malfoy manor. _

_ As if knocked out of their stupor, everyone started talking at once. The Dark Lord was certainly coming, and it was time to find someone to blame before he got there. Draco tried to get away in the commotion, to maybe go upstairs, but his father put his cane on Draco’s shoulder roughly. He looked at Draco with intense disappointment and fear, and gave a shake of his head. _

_Everyone felt the moment that the Dark Lord entered the Manor’s grounds. It was impossible not to feel that chill. Draco knew he should be terrified, and somewhere deep inside of him he was, but he just felt numb. He always told himself the same thing: “whatever happens is going to happen, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He was, as usual, powerless._

_ The Dark Lord walked barefoot, the shattered glass on the floor not bothering him. Nagini slithered behind him, interested in the drops of blood on the floor. Everyone remained silent, waiting for him to speak._

_ “Well?” he said in his high, cold, and calm voice. “Where is Harry Potter?”_

_Everyone looked at Lucius—this was only his home when it was inconvenient for him. Normally the Death Eaters would be scrambling to talk over him. “M—My Lord,” he stuttered. “Harry Potter escaped.”_

_ The Dark Lord tilted his head to the side and spoke in an even tone. “He escaped?”_

_ “Yes, my Lord.”_

_ “Who allowed such a thing to happen?” The Dark Lord looked around at the dozen Death Eaters and Snatchers before him. _

_ “My Lord, I did everything I could,” Bellatrix whispered in a reverent tone. “When Potter arrived his face was swollen—even Draco couldn’t identify him.”_

“_Really?” The Dark Lord made eye contact with Draco, who quickly looked away. “Draco, who has been at school with Potter for six years, could not identify the boy?” Draco said nothing. “Interesting,” the Dark Lord continued. “Even so, how did this supposed ‘Harry Potter’ escape?”_

_ “A House Elf took him away. The elf was able to get through our barriers, my Lord,” Bellatrix continued._

_ The Dark Lord’s tone changed from thoughtful to enraged. “Which House Elf?”_

_ “Dobby, sir,” Lucius spoke up._

_ “Your former House Elf?”_

“_Yes, my Lord.”_

_ “So, Lucius,” the Dark Lord stepped toward him. “You’re telling me that your son couldn’t identify Potter in your own home, and then your former House Elf helped all of our prisoners escape? Is this what happened?” The Dark Lord looked to everyone else, who nodded._

_ The Dark Lord stepped toward Lucius and Draco. Draco moved his mother subtly behind him. “You are very lucky that your family has such valuable blood, Lucius. Blood that I do not wish to spill.”_

_ “The rest of you,” he spun around. “Have failed me once more. I cannot allow this. You all know that I am actually quite merciful. Ignorance, I understand. Maybe it is true that the boy,” he gestured toward Draco. “Could not identify his classmate. I am willing to_ _believe that. What I am not willing to accept is incompetence.”_

_ Then the massacre began. Voldemort began not just using the Killing Curse, but slashing the newest and least valuable of his servants. Blood spilled everywhere, and bodies soiling themselves as they fell to the ground filled the room with a rank scent. Draco should have been used to it by now, but he gripped his mother’s hand tightly as he tried not to vomit. _

_ Finally, it was over. The Dark Lord was whispering to Nagini in Parseltongue as the snake searched for the best body she could have for dinner. Only a few Death Eaters were spared, and they quickly made themselves scarce. Soon it was just the Malfoys and Voldemort in the destroyed room. _

_After seeming to deliberate on what to do with the family, Voldemort turned to them. “There must be some punishment for what has occurred. Whether deliberately or not—“ the Dark Lord made eye contact with Draco again, who was incredibly grateful that he had been taught Occlumency. “Your son made a critical error by failing to speak up when it mattered most. Do you have anything to say for yourself, Draco?”_

_ Draco was now finally shaking, the numbness leaving him and his surroundings engraving deep in his mind. He could not speak, but shook his head. _

_ “If you desire so greatly to be mute, then possibly you should learn what it is actually like for a little while.” The Dark Lord slashed his wand, and Draco felt a sharp pain in his mouth as it filled with blood. He doubled over in agony and spit out a chunk of something slimy on the ground, adding mouthfuls of his blood to that which was already_ _on the usually polished floor._

_ Draco was vaguely aware of the Dark Lord stalking away as his parents stood over him. He slumped to the floor. “Draco, look at me Sweetheart,” his mother said, forcing his aching head to meet hers. She parted his lips as blood continued to stream uncontrollably out of his mouth. Something felt very wrong inside of him. He looked dizzily at the slimy thing he spat up on the ground—it looked strangely_ _familiar_—

“Draco! Draco wake up! It’s me!” Draco usually woke up unaware of his surroundings after a nightmare like that, but this time he knew exactly where he was and what was happening. He shoved Potter away and opened a drawer in his nightstand to get out the mirror he used for this express purpose. He opened his mouth—his regrown tongue was still there. He touched it—it was still there, only a light white line marking where his old tongue was sliced off. He gasped and felt as though he were choking on the tears that slid down his face. Why did he have to have that nightmare tonight? That was one of the worst ones, it made him never want to speak again, even though that’s why he received the punishment in the first place—

“Draco, what happened? What happened in your nightmare?” Harry was really concerned.

Draco couldn’t speak, he just shook his head, dropped the mirror, and curled up in on himself. 

Harry sat on the bed with Draco. “ I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I promise you it’ll help—“

“Oh will it?” Draco sat up quickly, furious with Potter. “You really want to know? Fine, Potter. After your friends escaped from the Manor, the Dark Lord murdered nearly everyone in sight and then literally cut my tongue out as punishment for not confirming it was you. I had to go a week without a tongue before he finally gave my mother the potion to regrow it. There you have it—oh, you’re right, I feel so much better!” Draco said the last part sarcastically as a new round of sobs began.

“Draco—I had no idea. I—“ Harry sighed. “That’s awful. I’m sorry I made you tell me if you weren’t ready. I hate it when people do that to me, and I shouldn’t have done it to you. I can leave you alone if you want.” 

Harry made to leave, and Draco grabbed his arm. “Please...please don’t go...” Draco lay back down in defeat.

Harry seemed to be thinking about something, but then left anyway, making Draco sob even harder. However, a few moments later Harry returned—with another pillow. Without a word, Harry lay beside Draco and turned off the lights, leaving both of them side by side in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the romance officially begins!! You guys have waited long enough. I’m thinking there will be a few more chapters in this installment of the series, then a week long break so I can recharge my creative juices, and then we’ll start the next installment! Let me know what you think and if you have anything you want to see—I feel like I’m pretty good at accommodating your guys’ requests!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds the courage to ask Harry out on a date

**Chapter 18**

When Draco woke up the next morning, Potter was already gone. Draco reached his hand out and felt the part of the bed where Potter had slept—it was still warm. He was horrified with himself, not only for his various gross displays of emotions yesterday, but for allowing Potter to sleep next to him. Potter must think him such a child, so immature. Though he was alone in the room, Draco’s face glowed bright red with embarrassment. 

Even worse, Potter’s presence at night was like a drug. When Draco didn’t have it, he couldn’t sleep. Over the next few weeks, Draco always found Potter next to him for one reason or another when the boys settled down to rest. Sometimes it was Draco’s crying that brought Potter to him, and sometimes Potter came of his own volition after yelling in his sleep. Neither Harry nor Draco ever discussed it, even though they were moving forward with projects of their own.

Draco found Harry a very easy student in regards to Occlumency, and the Boy Who Lived was now able to show him nearly any memory Draco requested. After running out of specific ones to ask for, Draco let Potter come up with some on his own. This was harder, because Potter had to remember every detail unprompted. However, all the memories came through very clearly, and Draco learned more about Harry along the way. His nemesis really did have an awful childhood, with clearly abusive relatives. 

“Did Dumbledore know about this?” Draco asked one day after Harry showed him a memory of spending one of his earlier birthdays ill with pneumonia and not taken care of. 

Harry looked away. “I got the feeling he knew they weren’t the best guardians in the world. I’m not sure he knew any specifics.”

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“I didn’t want to burden him.” Harry shrugged. “Besides, it was the safest place for me, especially after Voldemort came back.”

Draco suppressed a shudder at Harry saying the Dark Lord’s name, but the young man used it so nonchalantly nowadays that he was nearly used to it. “I still think he would have done something. You were always his favorite.”

“I guess it’s just more complicated than that.” Harry offered Draco a tight smile, signaling to Draco that the conversation was over. 

While Harry was thriving in Occlumency, Draco had made very little progress in learning how to produce a Patronus. Sometimes he would lay awake at night, racking his brain for potential memories that would lead to success. The best he did was when he thought about a family trip with his parents that they had taken when Draco was very young, maybe five or six. They had gone to Paris for Bastille Day and watched the parade, and there was a fireworks show too. Draco had this image of him holding both his parents’ hands and looking up as they leaned over him to share a kiss. That night, Lucius carried the exhausted young boy back to their villa. Draco felt safe and protected, and like he was the luckiest kid in the world to have the parents that he did. 

That memory led to a small, silver wisp coming out of his wand. “Yes!” Harry exclaimed, pride beaming on his face. “I knew you could do it!”

Draco frowned. “I _didn’t_ do it,” he argued.

“But this is the first step. You’re going to do it.” Harry looked at Draco with such certainty and determination. Draco _wanted_ Potter to be proud of him, he wanted it so deeply that he was not going to focus on anything else.

As September bled into October, the eighth years were making some headway with designing a memorial for the fallen. Some of the initial animosity between the four Slytherins and the rest of the students was waning, though people certainly still hated Draco the most. It was even agreed upon, by a narrow majority, that Vincent’s name would sit among the other fallen students. Greg beamed as the final vote was cast, knowing that the man he had loved would be immortalized, though not in the way anyone thought or expected.

Draco continued to have Mind Healer appointments once a week. He and Christine had kept up their routine of playing chess, and while Draco talked about just enough serious things to make sure he was participating, he avoided anything that could set him off. As he and Potter lay in bed together one night, staring at the ceiling, Draco mused aloud. “I’m not sure if I should continue with the Mind Healer or not.”

Harry turned to his side to face Draco. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Um...” Draco laughed. “Because it’s awful?”

“Is it?”

“Well, it hasn’t been that awful because we’ve just been playing chess and talking about random things. If I keep going, we’re eventually going to have to talk about unpleasant things. Which will be unpleasant.”

“Now I know why you were always so high up in your class, with intelligent statements like that—“ Draco slapped Harry playfully for this comment. “No but seriously, you should keep going. And you should, eventually, talk about those unpleasant things. I’ve been going for, what, like nearly 5 months now? It’s made a huge difference.”

“Yes, I can tell, since you crawl in bed here with me all the time after a nightmare—“

“Well I didn’t say I was cured! But getting six hours of sleep a night is a lot better than none.”

“When will you be cured, then? You’ve been going for ages!”

“I’m not sure you ever get cured,” Harry sighed. “I think you just go into remission, you know? Get better.”

“So then what’s the point? If I’ll have to deal with this for the rest of my life, why bother putting myself through talking about it all?”

“Because you will feel so much better down the road! Look at me,” Harry said kindly. Draco met his eyes in the darkness. “You’ve been through a lot. You deserve to get better.”

Draco scoffed. “You don’t even know if it will help. Besides, I can’t imagine a disease for which there is no cure. We’re _wizards_ for Merlin’s sake.”

“Why don’t you ask your Mind Healer, then? Maybe there is a cure and people are just hiding it from me.”

Draco took slight offense at Harry’s joking tone. “Fine. I will.” He turned on his side to face away from Harry.

After a few moments, the Boy Who Lived spoke up. “You know, you have to keep going to appointments in order to ask her...”

“Sod off, Potter.” Draco fell asleep to the sound of Harry’s quiet laughter.

And so, Draco found himself continuing to see Christine. He did learn some useful techniques for calming down panic attacks, and realized he was able to walk around Hogwarts grounds without much incident. The main thing stressing him out at the moment was the situation with his parents. Mr. Burke contacted him saying that a retrial had been set for the first of November, and so they would be in Azkaban until then. He had also enclosed another application for Draco to visit his parents, emphasizing to him that he likely wouldn’t be able to do so until early October. Having time to think, Draco hadn’t yet filled out the application. He knew he wanted to see his mother, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to face Lucius again, especially knowing that an additional month in Azkaban would have made his father worse, not better.

Apart from all that, his life was mostly uneventful. He found he was cruising through his days with a bit of apathy. Sure, his Slytherin friends got him to smile or laugh every once and a while. But the one thing he truly looked forward to all day was getting to spend nights with Harry. The boys mostly ignored each other during the day, not out of animosity, but merely giving each other space to do their own thing. Draco often found himself gazing at Potter during class, wondering how his former nemesis was feeling. This scared him—why was Potter making him so happy? Should he try and stop feeling so good when Potter was around? How did Potter feel about him?

One early October night, Draco was completely unable to fall asleep, even though Potter was already snuggled in next to him. He sighed as he listened to Harry’s even breathing, and quietly crept out of the room. He found Greg sitting by the fire in a similar position to how he had found him a few weeks ago. Draco poured himself a cup of fresh tea that he assumed Greg had made, and sat beside him, but further from the flames. The two sat in amicable silence for a while, until finally Draco spoke.

“How did you know you liked Vince? If—if you’re alright with me asking.”

“Of course,” Greg didn’t sound as upset as he had a few weeks ago, just contemplative. “I actually like it when you bring him up. I feel like a lot of people are scared to talk to me about him, but most of the time that’s all I want to talk about. Even if it hurts.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, it’s hard to say when I first realized it. I just realized that I was my happiest when I was spending time with him, and he made my whole world brighter. I looked forward to seeing him more than anything else. When I was around him, I felt so...safe and taken care of, like I could take on the world with him by my side.”

“That’s really nice,” Draco said wistfully. 

Greg stared into the flames for a moment more and then whipped around to face Draco. “Do you fancy someone?”

“N—no,” Draco said. He was actually not a very good liar. 

“You do! Oh, we knew it. You’ve been in a much better mood lately. But who?”

“No one you know,” Draco said quickly. Then he thought—who would he know that Greg wouldn’t? Their families were very close and they went to school together for their whole lives. “Um...someone in France. We’ve been writing letters.”

Greg raised an eyebrow, looking doubtful. “I can’t give you proper advice if you don’t tell me the truth, mate.” Draco sighed, looking like he might crack. Greg leaned forward excitedly. “I promise I won’t tell anyone, I’ll even make the Unbreakable Vow if you want—“

“No,” Draco said quickly. He wasn’t upset with Greg for making light of it, a lot of people did, but Draco knew better than most how serious the Unbreakable Vow was. “Fine. It’s someone at Hogwarts and you do know them.”

“Who is it?” 

“I’m not going to tell you. You can speculate all you’d like but I won’t confirm or deny anyone. And besides, I don’t even know if I fancy them or not. Or what he thinks about me.”

“Well, how do you feel when you two spend time together?”

Draco took a moment to think. “Sort of what you said. He’s the only one who can make everything...quieter, you know? In a good way. Everything’s just so loud inside my head sometimes, thinking about everything that happened in the past few years and everything I have left to go through. But when I’m with him I can sort of just...be. He treats me the same whether I’m having a good day or bad, and he comforts me when needed. He drives my days and my life forward. I just want to hold him and make him feel as good as I feel when I’m around him.”

Greg nodded. “That’s definitely a crush, mate! You should ask him to Hogsmeade.”

“I’m not even supposed to go to Hogsmeade anymore, let alone a date...”

“Oh come on, before the weather turns too cold! One weekend won’t hurt. I could even change your appearance, if you’d like to go disguised. Ask him to go with you this Saturday!”

Draco considered it for a moment. “I’ll try,” he said.

On the first Wednesday of October, a few nights after Draco’s conversation with Greg, Harry and Draco lay in bed like normal. Except on this night, Harry had gotten into Draco’s bed right away, not even bothering to wait for one of them to have a nightmare. _He wouldn’t be in bed with you if he didn’t at least like you a little bit. He clearly doesn’t hate you anymore._ Draco had been rehearsing this in his head all day. If Harry didn’t seem interested in the idea of going to Hogsmeade with Draco, the latter would just say they could go as friends with a group. Draco shifted uncomfortably in the bed, the weight of what he wanted to say preventing him from settling.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, sounding tired.

“Yeah. Erm...” Draco decided to just get it over with. “Do you want to...do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

Draco was staring at the ceiling, but he could feel Harry’s gaze on him. “I thought you weren’t allowed to go,” Harry said evenly.

“Well, I’m _allowed_ to go. I want to get out a bit, you know? I think it’ll be alright.” Draco said this nonchalantly.

“Then...yeah, sure, I’d love to go. Should we invite some of your friends, too?”

“Er...” Draco forgot how clueless Potter could be. “I think they’re busy.”

“Oh. No problem then. I think Hermione wanted to go this weekend anyway to get some gifts for the Weasley’s.”

_Does he really not want to spend time with me? “Er...I was wondering if maybe we could go, just you and m_e.” Draco clenched his fist and closed his eyes, bracing himself for rejection. 

“Oh! Er...yeah, sure. No problem.”

“I mean, only if you want to. I don’t really care. Well, I mean I invited you so obviously I care, but...”

Harry laughed. “Draco, relax. Of course I’d want to, that sounds quite nice.”

“Great. Goodnight.” Normally the two boys would chat a bit more, but Draco wanted some space to calm his racing heart. For the first time in a while, he went to sleep with something to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some wholesome content! 
> 
> Also a note about scheduling: this weekend is my anniversary with my boyfriend, so I likely won’t have a chapter out until Sunday or even Monday. After that, I’ll be going on vacation for Thanksgiving, so chapters may not be as regular for that week. Then we’ll get back on track though! 
> 
> Let me know what you think! Isn’t Harry so clueless? It’s adorable but it reminds me of how he handled the whole Cho Chang situation, lol.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry go to Hogsmeade!

**Chapter 19**

The next few days went by extremely slowly. For once, the thing stressing Draco out was trivial. He wasn’t worried about an evil figure in his house, imprisonment, torture, or any of those things—rather, he was concerned about his upcoming outing with Potter. 

Surprisingly, Draco decided to tell his friends about what would be happening on Saturday. There were only two options—they would be okay with it, or they wouldn’t. If it didn’t bother them, great. If it did, that would be alright too, and Draco would simply walk further down the path of distancing himself from the other Slytherins. He literally had nothing to lose, and had grown tired of sneaking around over the past year. 

“I’m going to Hogsmeade with Potter on Saturday,” Draco said suddenly at dinner the next day. The Great Hall was mostly empty, since that’s when the eighth year Slytherins would have the lowest chance of getting insults hurled at them.

Greg was the only one who kept on eating, seemingly unperturbed by this sudden announcement. Daphne and Blaise stared at Draco in shock, with Blaise’s fork clattering to his plate. 

“On...on purpose?” Blaise said after a few moments.

“Yes.”

“Why? Don’t you hate him?”

“Oh, quite the opposite,” Greg smirked as he said this, and Draco shot him a mild glare. 

“You like Potter?” Daphne said in shock, and Draco shh’ed her. 

“Shush! It’s not like it’s a date or anything. It’s just a thing that’s happening.”

“Will it just be the two of you?” Blaise asked.

“Well, yeah—“

“Then it’s a date!” Daphne chimed in.

“Potter...he asked if any of our friends should come. He definitely does not think it’s a date.” Surprisingly, Draco’s friends looked disappointed when he said this.

After a few moments of silence, Blaise spoke up, a look of anger on his face. “If he is a prat to you, you let me know and I’ll kill him.”

“Yes, threatening to kill the savior of the wizarding world is a great way to help their relationship,” Daphne chided. 

“I don’t care! You’ve been through enough, mate,” Blaise said, pointing his fork at Draco. “You deserve to be happy. If Potter is what makes you happy, then he better cooperate.”

“So...you guys aren’t mad?”

“No, of course not!” Daphne said, and Blaise and Greg nodded in agreement. “Sure, it wouldn’t have been our first guess or our first choice for you, but it’s like Blaise said. We want to see you happy. We like the Draco sitting across from us right now a lot more than we liked the sulking one from the past two years.”

Draco gave a rare genuine smile at that one. “I do, too.”

Finally, Saturday came. Surprisingly, Harry and Draco hadn’t discussed their upcoming outing much, even though on Saturday morning they woke up next to each other as always.

Harry stretched and yawned. “When do you want to leave?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Draco said. “Maybe before lunch?”

“That sounds good, I need to work on some homework anyway. I’m going to go get breakfast with Hermione and Neville, do you want to come?”

“No thanks.” Draco was far too nervous to eat breakfast. Even without the impending doom of a possible first-date, he usually only had the stamina to eat one meal a day. 

Like a revolving door, Blaise entered the room without knocking as soon as Harry left.

“What, were you waiting for him to leave?” Draco exclaimed.

“No, just wanted to see how you were doing before your big date!” Blaise sat on Harry’s bed, which hadn’t been slept in for a few weeks. “Potter makes his bed?”

“I suppose so,” Draco said in an even tone. 

“Huh. I wouldn’t have thought him the tidy type. I guess that’s one area where you two will get along,” Blaise smirked. 

“Shut up,” Draco snarled playfully. “Besides, it’s not a ‘big date.’ We’re just...you know...walking around. I may get something for my mother since I didn’t have the chance to the last time.”

“That’ll be nice for her, in a bit,” Blaise said softly.

Draco stopped straightening his robes—he actually had forgotten for a moment that his mother wasn’t lounging at Malfoy Manor and was rather locked in a cell in Azkaban. “Right.”

“Seriously, man, at least just try to enjoy yourself this weekend. Get some sun, eat some junk food and fill up a bit.” Draco scoffed. “And if Potter doesn’t seem interested? Don’t worry about it. If he’s not an idiot, which is certainly questionable, he will be eventually.”

Realizing that Blaise was trying to be comforting, Draco turned to face him and smiled. “Thanks, Zabini,” he said.

The two joined Gregory and Daphne in the common area to pass some time by playing games for a few hours. Finally, it was nearing eleven o’clock, and Potter returned with a grin. “Ready to go?”

Draco stood up from the Gobstones table and nodded. “Yup, let’s go.” Thank goodness his friends refrained from any untoward or obnoxious comments. 

Draco found that his heart was pounding as he and Harry walked to the train. “It’s um—“ he suddenly started, much louder than he intended. Harry looked at him, startled. Draco cleared his throat to try again. “It’s nice outside. Not...not too cold for October.”

Harry raised his eyes and nodded with a laugh. “Are you nervous, Malfoy?”

“No. Of course not,” Draco said quickly. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Well I know it’s not because you’re intimidated by my apparent heroism...”

Draco scoffed. “Of course not! I actually find it quite revolting how people dote over you.” He instantly regretted what he said. Why would he want to insult the boy he wanted to like him?

“That’s kind of what I enjoy about you,” Harry said. “You get it. Remember Dumbledore’s Army?”

“Do I ever.” Draco had tortured many of its members over the past year. 

“Well, I didn’t even want to start it. It was Hermione’s idea. So much of what I’ve done has been through the help of other people, or just luck.”

“Potter, while I dislike the arrogance that your presence brings out in others, I also dislike people not taking credit where it is due. There’s no way the Dark Lord could have been defeated without you; the specific decisions that you made, and the specific actions that you took. Sure, other people probably helped, but ultimately it was you who did the deed. And...” Draco looked at the beaming Harry. “And I’m grateful.”

“That’s really nice, Draco. Thank you.”

The two companions caught the train to Hogsmeade, and it was a short ride. Draco was thinking about how far he had come from the boy who had a panic attack on the train going to Hogwarts. Though he somewhat felt on the verge of an anxiety attack right now, he took pleasure in the fact that it was because of butterflies in his stomach rather than sharp daggers of fear.

When the two arrived, Harry sighed. “I’m starved. Three Broomsticks?”

“Um...” Draco looked around. The village seemed more busy than it had the last time he came, which was probably a good thing since the eerie silence was a foreshadowing to Dolohov’s attempted kidnapping of Draco. With all the hustle and bustle, he was sure that Madame Rosmerta would be capitalizing on business at the pub that he frequented so often over the past two years. But what were the other options, the Hogs Head? _That wouldn’t look bad at all—a former Death Eater going to the dodgy pub with the Boy Who Lived_. There was also the tea shop but that was much too...obvious. “Sure, sounds great,” Draco said nervously.

Harry strolled into the Three Broomsticks with Draco following close behind him—it was too bad that he towered over the young wizard. Sure enough, Madame Rosmerta caught his eye and morphed her face into an immediate glare. She stamped over to the two, with Potter looking disturbed.

“You’re not allowed to be here,” she addressed Draco only. “Get out of my pub.”

“Who says he can’t be here?” Harry began to get angry, and Draco put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, trying to steer him out of the pub. 

“I just did. Get out. Sorry, Mr. Potter, of course you are welcome here. But without him.”

“I’ll have you know—“

“Potter, stop.” Draco turned to Madame Rosmerta. “I’ll leave. Sorry for the trouble.”

Draco stormed out of the Three Broomsticks—but Potter didn’t follow. Draco paced for a minute in front of the building, then stalked away. Hogs Head it was. 

Pushing open the creaky door, Draco stepped into the sketchy pub. It was mostly empty, and the bartender looked very uninterested by his presence. A few dark hooded figures sat skulking in corners, and Draco shuddered at the resemblance to those who frequented his house during the Dark Lord’s rule. 

He walked over to the empty bar. “Two shots of Firewhiskey, please. And keep them coming.” Draco slapped a few coins on the bar and the keep got to work. Draco ran his hands through his hair.

_Of course Potter wouldn’t want to spend time with you after that. You just reminded him of what a monster you are. What a fool, thinking that he would ever want to be in your presence_. Draco looked around at the disgusting establishment he found himself in. _This is where you belong. With the bums and criminals. You’ll never be anything more._

Draco downed the two shots immediately and the bartender refilled them, with Draco immediately drinking the rest. Only a few minutes went by before his head was absolutely swimming. His stomach churned with the alcohol and the heavy thoughts that were settling into his brain. Draco was able to get two more shots in him before the bartender cut him off. “Wait a half hour, see how you feel,” the gruff man said, sliding Draco a glass of water that he had no intention of drinking. Draco glanced at the clock—it had only been a few minutes since Draco had been humiliated at the classier pub. Potter was probably back at Hogwarts now with his real friends.

“Draco!” Potter stormed into the Hogs Head and rushed over to him. “Are you alright? What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like m’doing?” he slurred. Inwardly he cringed—he sounded like Lucius. “Jus’ go, Potter. You don’ need to be here.”  
  
“What, so one little thing goes wrong and you immediately get pissed out of your mind?”

“Not a little thing. Big thing.”

“What big thing?”

“Constant reminder that there’s no way a bloke like you would even be friends with me, let alone date me.” Draco hiccuped. 

Harry started at him. “Date you?”

“What?” _Did I say something about dating Potter?_ Draco’s mind was so sluggish, and he reached for the water glass but found it to double before his eyes, and he didn’t know which one to pick up. 

“You said I wouldn’t even be friends with you, let alone date you.”

Draco made a decision and thankfully picked up the real water glass. He took a sip, wanting to sober up as quickly as he had wanted to get drunk only a few moments ago. “Well, you wouldn’t, would you?”

“I don’t make decisions that quickly. Or based on things like what people have done in their past.”

Draco didn’t really know what to say to that. He was beginning to feel sick. 

Harry looked around the Hogs Head. He looked nervous. “You look nervous,” Draco said. “Don’t be nervous. They’d want me anyway, not you.” Draco hated the thought of Harry being upset or anxious in any way. 

Harry glanced at Draco strangely and sighed. “Come on.” Harry helped support Draco’s weight as he got to his feet. 

“Where’r we going?” Draco hated the feeling of the alcohol sloshing inside of him. 

“We’re just going to sit a bit. Get some fresh air, talk things out.”

“You...you still want to spend time with me?” Harry pushed the glass of water into Draco’s hand. _How did that get there?_

“Of course I do, Malfoy.” Harry sounded both annoyed and amused.

“But you left me...”

“I was trying to talk sense into Madame Rosmerta. She said that she’d be willing to let you enter her pub as soon as your parents are retried and she knows that...that you’re not up to anything.”

“Don’t have the energy to be up to anything. ‘Sides, both sides hate me. Your side hates me, the Death Eaters hate me...everyone hates me. But it’s fine!” Draco added this part quickly as he saw Harry’s crestfallen expression. “I deserve it.”

“You don’t. Yes, you were not a great person. But you’re trying, and more people should see that.”

“I am trying,” Draco realized. “I _am_ trying,” he said it again to see how it felt. All of a sudden he felt the need to stop, and he took both of Harry’s hands in his. “I want to feel better, Harry. I want to be better. Can you help me?”

Harry, instead of recoiling in horror that a Death Eater was touching him, actually squeezed his hands. “Of course I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little angsty, but it wasn’t ever going to go off without any hitches!
> 
> I’m going home for Thanksgiving break tomorrow, so I imagine I’ll either have a lot of chapters published this week or very few. Either way, I can guarantee a new one by Wednesday! As always, let me know what you think. Love you guys!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry try to end their first outing on a pleasant note—but end up running into someone unexpected

**Chapter 20**

Harry helped a stumbling Draco out to a small park in the middle of Hogsmeade. They settled on a bench as Draco leaned back and closed his eyes, letting out a groan. 

After a few minutes, Harry spoke. “How are you feeling?”

“Great,” Draco said sarcastically, though he was feeling a little more sober. Thankfully, though, not sober enough to let the reality of what he had said earlier sink in. He took a sip of water, not wanting to aggravate his beginning nausea. “Potter, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”  
  
“Merlin, so many things.” Draco sighed. “But particularly for making such a scene. I should have warned you that if she were there she may react like that.” Draco didn’t even feel like he deserved to say Madame Rosmerta’s name. 

Harry sighed in tandem. “I should have known she’d be upset. I guess it’s just so obvious to me that you’re not a threat.”

“Hey, I can be a threat if I wanted to be!” Draco was mildly offended, particularly in his intoxicated state. 

“I just mean that you were a kid when you were doing all that! And clearly you’re terrible at trying to kill people, no offense.” Draco let out a huff and took another sip of his water. “I just don’t feel like Madame Rosmerta should be that cross with you. We’ve all been through enough. Sometimes I wish everyone would just move on from old feuds. I know we’re all grieving, but there’s no point in holding on to such hatred. It just distracts from the real issue, which is that there are still dozens of Death Eaters roaming free.”

Draco let Harry talked about Ministry woes while he leaned back and closed his eyes. He was feeling more aware by the second, and then suddenly it hit him that he discussed dating Potter. He shot up in the bench with horror, and Harry startled next to him.

“What?”

“Oh Merlin,” Draco groaned. “Potter, how many Galleons would I have to give you to have you forget about what I said earlier?”

Harry grinned. “About us dating? There isn’t enough money in the world.” Draco glared at him. “Listen, Draco, I definitely don’t want to rule anything out. I mean, we’ve been sleeping in the same bed for weeks now. I certainly have some feelings for you. But I think that we should try to be friends first. And no offense, but that involves you calling me by my first name.”

Draco nodded. “That’s fair. Harry.” He added Potter’s name at the end awkwardly. 

Draco and Harry sat on the bench for a few more moments and exchanged some pleasantries. Draco finished his glass of water. “Would you feel up to walking around a bit?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, I feel a lot better,” Draco said truthfully. 

The two spent the rest of the day frequenting the smaller shops around Hogsmeade. Many of the store managers kept a wary eye on Draco, but their anger with him seemed to be balanced out with their reverence for Harry. The two certainly made an interesting pair, and Draco kept an eye out for press. If something came out, he might even be grateful that his parents were in Azkaban and wouldn’t be able to see the tabloids. Draco was also able to get a necklace for his mother—a beautiful and pure emerald on a golden chain, to reminder her that she was a Slytherin through and through.

Their last stop was Zonko’s Joke Shop. Draco had never set foot in there—his father wouldn’t want him frequenting shops of nonsense. As soon as he and Harry stepped into the shop, greeted by a variety of noisy toys, he knew it was a bad idea.

“Harry! Malfoy?!” It was none other than Ronald Weasley, flipping through merchandise. 

“Ron! It’s great to see you!” Harry walked over to give him a hug. Ron returned it, but kept his gaze on Draco.

“Harry, what...what are you doing with Malfoy?”

“We’re just shopping a bit. What are you doing at Zonko’s?”

“George and I are just trying to, you know...” Ron lowered his voice. “Spy on the competition. See what products they have that we don’t, try and make ours better.”

Draco kept his eyes on the ground. He knew that one of the Weasley twins had been killed in the battle, and he also knew that he had mercilessly teased the Weasleys for years. He couldn’t bear to meet Ron’s eyes. 

He heard Ron murmur to Harry, “Can I talk to you outside for a second?” Harry nodded and told Draco he would be right back, leaving Draco pacing among the shelves. Thankfully the elderly shopkeeper was occupied with counting inventory and didn’t notice the former Death Eater’s skulking. 

Of course Ron wasn’t going to stand for this. Draco had truly been horrible to his entire family. Sure, he hadn’t much to do with Fred’s death, but he certainly had a lot to do with the eldest Weasley’s mauling by Fenir Grayback. That would have never happened if Draco hadn’t let the Death Eaters into the castle. He sighed as he leaned against a bunch of jump-scare products. This wasn’t going according to plan in the slightest. Draco glanced at the clock—it was only two. They had been out for three hours and already Draco nearly had a panic attack, got thrown out of a pub, got completely pissed, and now they have run into Harry’s best friend who hated Draco’s guts. Draco felt exhausted and defeated—he was just ready to go back to school. _What a stupid idea this was._

Harry and Ron were only gone for about ten minutes or so before they came back in, Harry looking triumphant and Ron looking neutral. “Let’s go,” Ron said to Draco.

“W—what?” Draco looked to Harry for guidance.

“I mentioned to Ron that we hadn’t eaten lunch yet,” Harry said truthfully, though Draco was grateful that he left some details out of the explanation. “So he wanted to go to the Three Broomsticks with us, if that’s alright with you. Everything’s good on our end,” Harry finished pointedly.

Draco couldn’t believe that his day was going to end as it begun—by him getting thrown out of the Three Broomsticks. “But...I don’t think...”

“Come on Malfoy, I know you’re a right prat, but they’d never turn away any guest of two recipients of the Order of Merlin,” Ron beamed with pride—Draco pictured him slipping this into conversation any way he could.

So the three of them, with Draco feeling more and more like a third wheel by the second, were finally sat at the Three Broomsticks. Surprisingly, Harry chose the seat next to Draco rather than next to Ron, which nearly made Draco blush. Ron and Harry quietly studied their menus for a few minutes, and after they all ordered, they sat in what Draco hoped was amicable silence. 

Harry nudged Draco under the table and tilted his head a little toward Ron. _Oh right. He’s trying to help me be a better person._ And apparently that meant making polite conversation with one of your worst victims of bullying.

“So...Weasley,” Draco still used Ron’s last name, but without any malice and more as a formality. “How is that joke shop doing?” Draco tried not to say sarcastically.

“Business is booming, thankfully. Everyone seems ready to get back into a good mood again.”

“Even George?” Harry asked while taking a sip of tea.

Ron winced. “Not quite. He’s doing as well as can be expected, I suppose. Can’t bear to look in mirrors or anything. We both are still staying with Mum half the time as well, she can’t stand having an empty nest anymore.”

“I’ll have to come by and visit soon, if only just to get a decent meal.” Harry turned to Draco, trying to integrate him into the conversation. “Mrs. Weasley is one of the best cooks I’ve ever met. She can make just a simple soup and it’ll still be the greatest thing you’ve ever tasted.”

This was one of the many times during the conversation that Ron’s eyes narrowed. Mrs. Weasley had always been a way for Draco to bother Ron the most. “That’s nice,” Draco said curtly.

Ron took a sip of his drink and set it down a little forcefully. “And how are your parents, Malfoy? Still locked up?”

Harry gave a warning glance to Ron. “They are,” Draco said.

“Well, can’t be too careful these days I suppose,” Ron stated nonchalantly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco said, anger flaring up inside of him. 

“Relax, Malfoy. From my understanding it’s just as much for their safety as it is for everyone else’s.”

“How is being locked up and forced to relive your worst memories over and over again keeping them safe? My father is barely sane, Weasley.” Draco was struggling to keep his voice even, and he could tell that Ron was as well.

“What worst memories could they possibly have? Being on the losing side of the war, sure, but it’s not like you lost family. Your life has been cushy, Malfoy, and you’ve been able to rise to the top with almost no trouble, beating people down as you did it. If falling this far is your or your parents’ worst memory, then I would say better to be in Azkaban than out in the real world where bad things can actually happen to you.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me or my family, Weasley. If you think the Dark Lord is terrifying, try having him in your home for a year.”

“Try being on the run with barely anything to eat for a year, never knowing if your family is safe. Try losing a _brother_—“

“Enough.” Harry said quietly. Draco tried to unclench his hand from his glass. “I’m done with the fighting. Ron, you’re my best mate. You’ve had a really rough summer, and I understand that. But Draco is trying to be a better person. And you’re making that a little difficult right now.”

Ron looked at Harry for a long while. Then his gaze switched over to Draco. “Harry tells me you’re trying to be a better person,” he said, as if Draco hadn’t been sitting there while Harry was talking to him. “But what exactly are you trying to do here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you want to be his friend?” Ron nodded at Harry.

Draco cleared his throat. He wasn’t often asked direct questions like that. Draco looked at Harry, who smiled. “He’s...he makes Hogwarts interesting. He lets me make mistakes but also doesn’t let me off the hook. He encourages me to apologize and to be better. He gives me things to look forward to...” Draco stopped there because he was worried he was going to start crying.

Draco took a deep breath and turned back toward Ron. “On that note, I’m sorry, Weasley. I’m sorry for tormenting you over the years. I’m sorry for the comments I made about your family. I’m sorry about...” Draco made himself say it. “I’m sorry I let Death Eaters into the castle in sixth year. I know that led to your older brother being disfigured. I’m really, really sorry.”

Ron grinned. “I wouldn’t say Bill is doing too badly—he did end up with Fleur Delacour, and their first child is due in May.”

Draco was taken aback—he remembered Fleur Delacour from the Triwizard Tournament. Girls were never his thing, so his mind had more been on Viktor Krum, but even he had noticed Fleur’s beauty. “That—that’s fantastic! Congratulations. Is this your first time becoming an uncle?”

And so the conversation went forth very amicably. Soon, Draco and Ron were ribbing on each other for various fights and arguments they had in their school years. Harry joined in, and the three were laughing until the sun began to set. 

Finally, Ron put down his drink and gave a happy sigh. “I should be going now. But it was really nice to see you, Harry. I should be around soon to see Hermione, but feel free to come by the Burrow anytime. Malfoy, good to know that you’re not as big of a nuisance as you used to be. I hope that continues.” Ron gave Harry a hug and shook Draco’s hand.

It was just Harry and Draco again, and they began to walk back to the train station. “What a day,” Draco sighed.

“It definitely didn’t go how I expected it to,” Harry said.

Draco’s heart fell. _He’ll never want to do this again after all the trouble I caused him_. “I’m really sorry. I understand if you don’t want to—“

Harry stopped Draco with a laugh. “I had a lot of fun, actually! You’re cute even when you’re wasted.” 

Draco tried to meet Harry’s eyes but the young man looked away, blushing. “So...would you want to do this again sometime?”

“Absolutely,” Harry said. “Don’t sell yourself short, Draco. You’re really fun to be around. And I’m really proud of you for the way you handled everything—well, apart from immediately turning to alcohol when you felt sad. Next time, just come and talk to me, okay?”

“I will,” Draco said, and he truly meant it. “You as well, Pot—Harry,” he said, correcting himself last minute from using Harry’s last name. “This isn’t going to be a one-sided friendship, not on my watch. I’m here for you anytime, anywhere.”

The train ride back to Hogwarts was spent mostly in silence, with Harry putting his head on Draco’s shoulder and closing his eyes. Though they didn’t agree that this was an official first date, Draco felt happier than ever at the prospect that dating Potter was one door, at least, that was still open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think people bash on Ron way too much—he just seems aggressive at times because he’s so loyal to Harry! Anyway, I think this part of the story only has a few chapters left. I’m going to end this part of the series once they officially get together, which will likely be soon! Let me know if there’s anything you want to see and what you think.
> 
> Also, the next chapter will be posted on Sunday since tomorrow is Thanksgiving! I hope everyone in the States has a good holiday. Love to all!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry deal with some fallout from their little outing. Draco also gets very ill, leading to another flashback

**Chapter 21**

The next few days passed by in bliss. Draco spent the rest of Saturday evening catching up on homework and relaying all the details of his outing with Harry to his friends. They were very supportive, and sympathetic to his situation regarding Madame Rosmerta. Sunday was also a lazy day, but Draco did manage to squeeze in a Quidditch game with the other eighth-years, this time with no painful flashbacks marring the experience. Harry and Draco continued to spend their nights in bed together, with no physical contact, but exchanging whispers about the past year to each other. Each story exchanged helped to ease the burden on both boys, and made their dreams a little nicer. 

However, Monday came soon enough and hit Draco like a bunch of bricks. He heard Harry get up to head to the Great Hall before him, as usual. Draco usually waited until about an hour after Harry left to go himself to avoid any unwanted conversations with students at breakfast. This time, however, Harry rushed back into their room while Draco was getting ready for the day. 

“What’s wrong?” Draco looked concerned at Harry’s crestfallen expression.

“Draco...someone showed this to me at breakfast—“ Harry handed Draco a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Draco’s stomach lurched when he saw the front page.

The Boy Who Lived and a Death Eater: A Match Made In Hell?

“This past Saturday, Harry Potter was spotted at Hogsmeade village. This is not unusual, as the so-called “eighth year” Hogwarts students are able to visit Hogsmeade each weekend, and Potter is often spotted there with his friends. However, this time he was accompanied by none other than Draco Malfoy, a confirmed Death Eater who narrowly escaped imprisonment in no small part due to Potter’s testimonies in his favor in court. 

With Draco Malfoy’s parents, Narcissa and Lucius, currently awaiting retrial in Azkaban, it makes sense that the young Malfoy would want to get close to Potter. If all goes according to Draco Malfoy’s plan, Potter could be ready to testify on his parents’ behalf by the hearing in early November—just three short weeks from now. It is unknown whether he is using a love potion or even the Imperius Curse to do so, but the Prophet nevertheless encourages readers to take caution when interacting with even so-called “reformed” members of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s army.

What exactly is this blooming relationship between Malfoy and Potter, and what does it mean for the Wizarding World? If anyone has any information, they are encouraged to contact...”

The article went on to list the names of various Aurors and journalists. Draco balked at the sight of Yarney’s name on that list. It wasn’t a crime to spend time with Harry! Draco looked up and found the Boy Who Lived pacing back and forth across the room, hand rubbing his forehead. He looked stressed and angry. _Does he think that I’m trying to get close to him because of my parents’ retrial?_ “Harry, I—“

“I can’t believe this. I really can’t believe this.”

“Harry, I promise you, I’m not trying to trick you or anything. I swear—“

“Trick me?” Harry stopped and looked at him. “No, of course not! That’s not why I’m showing this to you.”

“Oh, good,” Draco was relieved. “I would never do that, I swear. You heard me tell Weasley the other day, I’m around you because I want to be, I—“

“I know, Draco, I know.” Harry sat next to Draco on his bed and put a hand on his leg. Shivers went up Draco’s spine, even though Harry’s hand was warm and comforting. “I trust you. I’m just so sorry that this is happening. This is the last thing that you need. I thought the Prophet would be done with all this sensational reporting after Skeeter got fired, but I guess that was too much to hope for.”

“It’s really not a big deal, Harry. We’ve both dealt with much worse.”

“I know, but it’s just so...unfair. I just want to be left alone. I just want everyone to let me live my life. I’ve never even be able to—“ Harry stopped, seemingly overwhelmed with emotion. He closed his eyes and put his head in his hands, rubbing furiously at his forehead. It broke Draco’s heart to see him so upset.

“Hey...” Draco took Harry’s hand that was turning his forehead red. Harry looked at him with surprise, as though he hadn’t realized what he was doing. “You’re going to wipe off your scar if you keep rubbing at it like that. You always seem to do that when you’re stressed.” Draco traced small circles on Harry’s palm.

“I’m used to being stressed when my scar hurts, I guess. It always hurt when Voldemort was around.”

Draco gave a small, humorless laugh. “It’s kind of great, in a way, that these are the problems we’re facing.” He gestured to the _Prophet_. “I’d take it over last year any day.”

That got a smile out of Harry. “That’s true, I suppose. Just don’t let it affect you, okay?”

“I’m not sure I’m the one that it’s affecting,” Draco said. “You need to take care of yourself, too, okay? Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

And Draco was fine, until the next morning. He was sitting at the Great Hall with Blaise, Daphne, and Goyle, actually feeling decently until the owls started to swoop down. Two of the dozen envelopes he received were Howlers—but as soon as Blaise saw them he grabbed them and ran out of the Great Hall. Draco’s heart was filled with warmth at that action; at least he would be spared the embarrassment of a hate letter being read to half the student body.

As for the rest of the letters, Draco hesitantly picked up the first one. He got a paper cut opening it, and sucked on his pointed finger while thumbing through the pages. It was about what he expected, phrases such as “how could you do this to the Wizarding World” and “scum of the Earth” and “you should be in Azkaban.” He told himself it didn’t matter, but somehow he found his father in between those lines from strangers, saying and believing the same things about his own son. 

“You shouldn’t open those,” Daphne said. “I’ll get rid of them.”

“No, I want to know how bad it is. Plus, I need to make sure no one is actually threatening me or my family.” This was definitely true, but not the full reason why Draco wanted to open each and every letter. He took some sick pleasure out of the pain that he felt with each horrible word. It felt good to punish himself, as if with each hate note he was one step closer to the finish line of finally being redeemed for his actions.

Most of the letters were thankfully nonsense, and all the four Slytherins thumbed through them once Blaise had returned after destroying the Howlers in the bathroom. Draco opened the second to last letter and a disgusting black liquid immediately oozed onto his hands. “Ugh!” he cried, and Blaise immediately vanished the liquid for him.

“Did that hurt? Maybe you should go to Pomfrey.”

“No,” Draco reassured Blaise truthfully. “It didn’t hurt, it was just gross. I’m sure it’s just a horrible metaphor for the darkness in my soul, or something.”

“Still, this is ridiculous,” Daphne said. “I would almost feel better if the Ministry were still snooping through mail.”

“Mate, you know all these comments are rubbish, right?” Greg was holding up a particularly nasty letter that contained all the reasons why Draco would never be good enough for someone like Harry Potter. 

“Yeah, of course,” Draco tried to keep his voice even as his hands shook. He opened the last one which was more of the same, and then went to gather the letters. 

“What are you going to do with those, have a nice bonfire?” Blaise tried to joke.

“No, I’m just...going to throw them away.” In truth, Draco planned to keep the letters in his drawer, lest he ever forgot who he really was.

“No you’re not,” Greg saw right through him. “You’re going to keep them to punish yourself. Give them to me.”

“No! They’re mine and I can do whatever I want with them!” Draco adopted the whiny tone that he often had in their early years of school.

Greg flicked his wand and the letters settled into a nice pile in front of him. “It’s too bad, then, that I can use magic and you can’t,” he smirked.

Draco sighed, but was secretly grateful that the burden of the words was no longer on him.

The afternoon was no better for Draco. He botched all of his spells in Charms and Transfiguration, barely managing to get a passing grade on his quizzes. He was also starting to feel a little ill—not in the familiar way that he had all summer, but rather feverish. By the time he sank next to Harry into Potions, he was trembling.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked with concern.

“Yeah.” Draco moved his legs away from the table to prevent any jostling from his shaking. _Pull it together._ He had drawn enough attention to himself for a lifetime. It was odd to try and be inconspicuous after years of trying to gain as much attention and prowess as he could. He wasn’t very good at it, either. 

He tried to pay attention to Professor Slughorn’s writing but the room started to sway, the chalkboard blurring together in a mess of white. Draco wondered if that liquid really was some sort of poison. He should tell Potter, he needed to see Madame Pomfrey. His chest didn’t feel right either and was tightening with each breath. _I’m so tired, though. I just need to shut my eyes for a moment..._

_ Draco fell out of his seat as Charity Burbage’s body hit the dining room table. How often had he sat with his friends at this table, everyone laughing as they passed dishes around? Now the only one feasting was the Dark Lord’s terrifying snake. _

_ “Nagini...dinner...” the Dark Lord said calmly._

_ No, Draco thought. There was no way that Nagini could eat an entire person. And yet he couldn’t stop watching as the snake unhinged her jaw and began by consuming Charity’s head. Narcissa squeezed Draco’s hand under the table, but Draco could barely feel it. He was hyperventilating and surely the Dark Lord would notice and punish him for it, but he couldn’t stop._

_Even some of the other Death Eaters looked a little uncomfortable. Were they just supposed to sit here while the giant snake devoured the former Professor? Draco had never taken Muggle Studies for obvious reasons, but he remembered Charity’s smiling face at the staff table. A thought settled deep into his churning gut: this is not what he wanted at all. Yes, he hated Muggles and Mudbloods—but this? This was too much. _

_ Draco looked around at anything but the bloody mess on his dining room table, at anyone who could possibly help him get out of this horrible situation. He breathed through his mouth to try and avoid smelling the flesh being chewed, to try and avoid vomiting. He looked at Professor Snape—surely, Professor Snape wouldn’t let this happen. He was sure that Lucius wouldn’t either if he weren’t in such a precarious position with the Dark Lord already—and he didn’t have his wand. But Professor Snape was favored by the Dark Lord, surely he could stop this, could show the Dark Lord some reason..._

_ He met Professor Snape’s gaze, pleading. His mentor gave him a small shake of his head._

“NO! HELP PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP!”

“What’s the matter with him?” _What’s the matter with _me_? Can’t they see what is happening?_

But no, it was Draco who couldn’t see. Everything was blurry—he wasn’t in the dining room in the Manor, but he wasn’t sure where he was. The floor he was standing on was hard—or was he laying down? He vomited on himself as he continued to shake.

A woman’s voice: “Harry, he’s really warm. Someone get Madame Pomfrey!” _Mum? Why is she talking to Harry Potter?_

“Draco, Draco look at me—“ someone was tilting his head toward them, and Draco willed himself not to retch again. 

The face slid into focus, and it was Harry Potter. Draco grabbed the concerned face. “Potter! Potter please listen to me—“ Draco’s chest was heaving with sobs. “The snake, it’s going to eat her, you have to kill the snake, please, you have to do something—“

“Shhh, I know. I know. It’s alright, the snake is dead—“

“No it’s not! How can you say that?” Draco shook Potter, wanting him to understand. “It’s in my house and it’s eating her, Potter, it’s—“ Draco turned his head to vomit again.

“What is he talking about? What snake?” Someone else was speaking but they didn’t matter. Only Harry could fix all this.

“Potter, I should have listened to him, I should have taken his offer, I was so stupid—“ Draco was sobbing again, and Potter scooped him up, burying his face into his chest.

“It’s alright, Draco, it’s okay. It’s over.”

“It’ll never be over,” Draco cried. “It’ll never be over, it’ll happen every day and over and over, there’s no end...”

Draco wasn’t even sure what he was talking about anymore, and apparently neither was Potter, because the latter just kept murmuring comforting nothings into his ear. Draco had been tortured, sliced all over his body, so ill that he couldn’t eat, but he wasn’t sure he had ever felt as sick in his life. Memories slipped through his mind like fragments and the world swayed. He felt like he was drowning—it was actually getting harder to breathe.

The voice holding him sounded panicked: “DRACO! Come on, you have to breathe. Just breathe!”

All of a sudden the world shifted beneath him, and he saw the brightest light and heard a train whistle. He giggled—maybe he was going back to Hogsmeade? He hoped his mother would be there, he needed to give her a present. 

He felt a sharp prick in his arm, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I wanted to have this one out for you guys a little early since I really love your comments. Also if you haven’t noticed, this part of series only has 4 more chapters! Then I think that will be it for 2019. We’ll start the next installment on January 1, 2020 with two chapters a week. This is partially so I can round out the plot for the next installment, and partially because I have my final exams soon and I don’t want to commit to anything I can’t do!
> 
> Also, as usual, please comment and let me know if there’s anything you want to see! Sorry to leave you on a cliffhanger again. Next chapter out hopefully Tuesday. Love you guys!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco wakes up from the Hospital Wing and decides that he needs to see Harry immediately.

**Chapter 22**

_Draco focused on tracing the tiles below him with his pointer finger. He did everything he could not to move his mouth at all, instead just keeping it open and letting the blood and vomit fall out into the toilet whenever it made an appearance. His mother had put three blankets over him and was rubbing his back as she sat on the bathtub ledge next to him, but he couldn’t feel any of it. The tiles trembled beneath his finger every time his father paced back and forth across the floor._

_ “What are we going to do, Narcissa?” Lucius said for the eleventh time. “He has to go back to school in three days.”_

_ “I’m sure there’s a cure. We can talk to Severus.”_

_ “Your spells aren’t working. What makes you think Severus has any more knowledge than we do?”_

_ “It’s Dark magic, Lucius, which is not my forte!” Draco’s mother sounded frustrated, her usually calm demeanor gone and replaced with a shaking voice._

_Draco wanted to tell them not to worry about it—he didn’t want to go back to Hogwarts anyway. All that came out of him was an inhuman moan—and more blood and vomit. Narcissa shushed him with a pat on the back. _

_ “The bleeding should stop on its own soon enough. He can take nourishment through liquids until we can figure this out.”_

_ “And he just won’t speak for the rest of his life? He’ll never finish his education that way, never be able to do any business—“_

_ “That is really not the concern right now, Lucius!” his mother snapped. Draco didn’t want her to be upset on his behalf. He can’t believe that he lost his tongue and his father was worried about business dealings. He tried to laugh but ended up nearly choking, which made it hard to breathe—_

“Draco? It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re in the Hospital Wing.”

Draco was struggling to breathe, and he felt something placed over his mouth. But no—he didn’t want someone to cut his tongue out again.

“It’s just to help you breathe, but you need to calm down, Mr. Malfoy,” a gentle voice said, different from the first. 

Draco opened his eyes just a sliver and found that his view was distorted by something in the way. He could make out Harry Potter’s scar, and found that he was subconsciously tracing Harry’s palm with his pointer finger.

“It’s good that you’re awake, but you need to sleep, alright?” Harry said. “You’re going to be fine, you just need to sleep.”

Draco’s body wasn’t giving him a choice except to follow Potter’s orders. His eyes slowly closed shut—

“_You deal with her. I’m tired.” Pansy threw the girl into the classroom where Draco was doing Advanced Detention duty. _

_ “What did she do?” Draco looked down at Ginerva Weasley as she got to her feet and gave him a glare that surely should have killed him. _

_ “Same old. Caught healing first years in the Room of Requirement again.” _

_ Draco let out a sigh. Don’t these people realize that if they just stayed out of the Carrows’ way, it would be so much easier for everyone? School had only been in session for a few months and Draco was already sick and tired of having to punish these seventh years. He and Vincent had proved most skilled at the Cruciatus curse, so they were required to torture the oldest students. Draco had tortured plenty of younger teens as well, and they were much easier. Their magical protection hadn’t developed as much yet, so Draco didn’t have to muster too much hatred in his heart to get the job_ _done._

_ Pansy slammed the door and Draco was left alone with the Weaslette. He sighed again and turned around, tracing the tips of his wand, trying to stall. The youngest Weasley was one of the hardest to torture—she was made of steel. “Why do you keep doing this?” he asked, still not facing her. “It would be easier for us all if you just sat down and shut up.”_

_ “Sorry, Malfoy, am I inconveniencing you by trying to save the lives of children?” She spoke with venom._

_ “They’re not going to die, Weasley! But you might if you keep this up!”_

“_I’d rather die doing what’s right then live as long as you will, the coward that you are.”_

_ That did it. Draco turned around. “Crucio!”_

_ Ginny let out a yelp of pain, and then seemed to look confused as it faded away. Draco stifled back a curse. It wasn’t working today._

_ Weasley looked at him and laughed. “You can’t even torture me for more than a second? Goodness gracious, how the mighty have fallen.”_

_ Draco tried again, this time nonverbally in the hopes that he would catch her off guard. He tried to think of how annoying she was and how she was turning him into a monster. He gathered all his feelings about his father, about how awful it was to be in this position, and about how unfair the world was to him. _

_ Finally, with a burst of green light, Weasley started writhing around on the floor in pain, screaming and crying. After a minute or so, Draco released her from the curse—but truthfully he wasn’t sure he could hold it any longer. Both students were panting, trying to catch their breath._

_Ginny stumbled to her feet. “You—you’re an absolute monster, Malfoy. You deserve whatever bad things come to you. You’re the scum of the Earth.” And she stalked out of the room._

_ Draco collapsed into a desk chair and ran his hands through his hair. He had tried to get out of this, he had asked Professor Snape for help last month—and had been tortured in return. Professor Snape did not look thrilled at having to punish Draco, but told him it was for his own good and his safety. When Draco didn’t seem to care about that, Professor Snape mentioned Narcissa, and how Draco was the only thing standing between her and death. He believed that with all his heart. Besides, it was Muggles and Mud—Muggleborns who started all this, wasn’t it? So no, he wasn’t a monster. Right?_

Draco actually woke up for the first time in days. The past few nights had been like a slideshow of his worst fears realized. He had both flashbacks and visions of things that thankfully never happened. He saw Potter’s dead body in Hagrid’s arms dozens of times, but in half of the dreams he never leapt out to save them all.

Potter. Draco shot up in bed, trying to ignore the shooting pain through his skull. It was dark, and it appeared that he was the only one in the Hospital Wing. Focus. You have to make sure Harry Potter is alright. Draco stood up and had to clutch the bed frame for support—how many days had he been unconscious? Ignoring the spinning room, he thought about the task before him—seven flights of stairs. He could do it, though, for Harry.

_Seven flights of stairs. That was all that stood between Draco and freedom. _

_ He had worked all year and it led up to this very moment. The Death Eaters were finally in the castle, courtesy of the Vanishing Cabinet, and Draco planned to make his escape one way or another while they were occupied with other things. He ran up the steps, fighting against the current of students hurrying down the stairs, running away from the Dark Mark that was now cast in the sky._

_ He didn’t have a set course of action for once he reached the Astronomy Tower. Possibly he would Accio his broom and fly away to take his parents to a far away land, and start a new. Possibly he would only take his mother, and leave his father to face the Dark Lord as a true punishment. Possibly he would simply leap and see if he could fly._

_All he could think about as his feet pounded on the stone was his now wasted life. Best case scenario, the Dark Lord wins this war, and the Malfoys are forever on the boundary of being in favor. Worst case scenario, he loses, and the Malfoys get thrown in Azkaban._

_ All Draco could think about was how much Muggles ruined everything. The creatures they birthed, the Mudbloods, were the reason for the Malfoys’ downfall. Draco was sure of it. His father was wrong about a lot of things, but Lucius was not wrong about that. _

_ Finally Draco approached the tower and took a moment to look at the night sky. Then he stopped in his tracks as he heard a voice—it was none other than Albus Dumbledore. He cursed inwardly at the cruel irony of the world. He had been circumventing the task of killing the Headmaster at every twist and turn, yet here he was just as Draco was trying to make his escape. _

_ Draco took out his wand and prayed that his hatred would be enough... _

The next thing Draco knew he was standing in front of the eighth year dormitory, shirt soaked through with sweat. He stopped to dry heave in the hallway before quietly entering the common area, which was thankfully empty. He crept to the end of the hallway to the room he shared with the Boy Who Lived.

He opened the door quickly enough so that it wouldn’t creak, but slowly enough so as not to wake the sleeping figure in his bed. Draco beamed—Harry Potter in his bed! It was his best dreams as a young teenager realized. All his pains forgotten, he stood close to the bed to watch Harry as he breathed evenly, in and out. He tossed and turned a bit, but didn’t seem to be having a nightmare. At one point he stretched, pushing back some of the hair on his forehead and revealing his scar. It was so beautiful. _Harry_ was so beautiful. Draco wanted to kiss that scar, to kiss all of his scars and have Harry kiss his until both of them felt whole again.

Feeling very tired, Draco carefully climbed into bed next to Harry, and did just that. With the small kiss that Draco planted on Harry’s forehead, the man opened his eyes sleepily.

“D—Draco? What are you doing here? Am I actually awake?”

Draco nodded, not quite having the strength to speak yet. 

Harry sat up and turned on the lamp, to Draco’s dismay. He winced at the light, which worsened his headache, and grabbed Harry’s arm as he put on his glasses and glanced at the thin figure next to him. “I know for a fact Madame Pomfrey didn’t discharge you at—“ he glanced at the clock. “—three in the morning.”

Draco was careful to make sure his tongue was firmly in place before he spoke. “Wanted to see you,” he managed, though he was feeling quite ill at this point and didn’t want anything to come out of his mouth other than words. 

“Well you could have waited until morning! I’ve come to see you before breakfast every day now.”

“How many?”

“How many days? I guess tomorrow will be the fifth.” Harry sighed and settled on the bed next to Draco, who revered in his closeness. “You’re an unlucky bloke, Draco. I guess you had a paper cut or something? So the poison got into your bloodstream. You’d be better by now if it were just on the surface of your skin, though that would have made you sick too. Magic spells aren’t working on your body as well, that’s why it’s taking you so long to heal. Madame Pomfrey has even had to use Muggle methods.” Draco suppressed a shudder—he was not prejudiced anymore. Muggle methods were fine. “And that’s why it’s really important that you rest. I can’t believe you walked up seven flights of stairs to come see me.” Harry shook his head, but Draco could see he was suppressing a smile.

Draco’s heart had never felt so full, and the pain of it was the best sort. Draco sat up, steadying himself on the bed as the world swayed, and ran his hand along Harry’s cheek. Harry was very still, and looked into Draco’s eyes with sadness. Draco didn’t want Harry to be sad. He leaned in closely and closed his eyes—

“Draco, we...we shouldn’t do this.”

—and his heart shattered. He pulled away, the movement awkward both with his embarrassment and illness. “Right. I understand.”

He made to get up but Harry gently pushed him back down. “I don’t mean _never_. I just mean not now. You’ve been really sick, I—I want to wait until you really want to do something like this.”

Draco met his gaze. “I have _always_ wanted to do this. Always. I mean, not in a weird way, but...you have no idea how amazing you are. I want to feel as connected with you in real life as I do in my head. I want to wake up next to you every morning and tell you how much I love you, and then I want to tell my friends how much I love you, and then the whole school. I want to tell them that yes, you’re the Boy Who Lived, but you are so much more, you’d be my boyfriend, you’d be my best friend, you’d—“ Draco paused to dry heave over the bed. He was crying now and he didn’t know why. He kept rambling compliments at Harry as his roommate patted his back.

When Draco finally pulled himself up to a sitting position, Harry felt his forehead. “You’re burning up. I’ll help you get to Madame Pomfrey.”

“No! No, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t talk anymore, I just—“

“No, Draco, you’re not—I’m not mad at you or anything. You’re just really ill, okay? I don’t even know if you’ll remember this. You need to get better so that I can have someone to sleep next to, okay?” Harry gave him a reassuring smile.

This calmed Draco down. _He’s still in your life._ His thoughts were fragments that pierced him in the best and worst possible ways. He didn’t know it was possible to love and fear this strongly. “Okay.”

The journey back to the Hospital Wing was horrendous, even though it was downstairs rather than up. After a while Draco had to resort to sliding down each step on his bottom since he was too weak to stand, and the height difference between him and Harry was too much for Harry to carry him. When there were only three flights left, Draco finally closed his eyes and leaned against the railing. He could still hear, but he couldn’t move or speak. 

“Draco? Draco come on, we’re over halfway. Please.” Harry was panicking and Draco hated it. _I’m fine_, he tried to say, but nothing came out. _I love you._

After a few minutes of Harry gently shaking Draco, he whispered to Draco that he was going to get Madame Pomfrey so that she could get a stretcher. Draco heard him stand up, and then hesitate. He sensed Harry bend down, and then received an extremely gentle kiss on his forehead. He was sure that his whole body was smiling, but apparently he remained unresponsive. Harry sighed and went to retrieve Madame Pomfrey—but Draco had never felt better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this one! Only 3 left in this series—I should have the next one out maybe by Thursday or Friday. Love you guys, as usual let me know what you think!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco thinks about visiting his father, and tries to apologize

**Chapter 23**

Harry was right—Draco did barely remember that night. Though putting his body through seven flights of stairs made the next morning horrifyingly painful, Draco was able to be discharged the following Wednesday with strict instructions to stay inside, as it was now mid-October and chilly, take it easy, and not put himself through any stressful situations. Unfortunately Mr. Burke also heard that Draco was now well again, and reminded him about filling out the application to see his parents. Draco had been so ill over the past week that he nearly forgot that his parents’ trial was only in about a dozen days. 

He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he try and visit Lucius again? What if his father had gotten worse? What if his father had seen a _Daily Prophet_ somehow and figured out that Draco had been spending a lot of time with Harry? 

These thoughts ran through Draco’s mind as he tried to go to sleep one night, Harry beside him. The application for a visit to Azkaban was sitting on his desk, filled out for his mother, but not for his father. Draco lay very still and stared at the ceiling. 

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked.

Draco startled—he didn’t know that Harry was awake. “Just...” he was debating how much he should tell Harry. He always thought he was probably so bothersome to Harry, having anxiety attacks all over the place, getting poisoned, having nightmares. Of course Harry ended up needing him too, but not as often, and not as intensely. Draco didn’t want to become dependent on Harry, didn’t want to become a burden. But, it was nighttime, and they always allowed the darkness to push them into more honesty. “I don’t know whether or not I should visit my father in Azkaban.”

Harry propped himself up on an elbow. “I don’t blame you, after what he said to you last time.” He paused. “I know that my parents are dead, so maybe I just wouldn’t understand. But why would you put yourself through something like that again?”

Draco sighed. “I don’t know, he’s my father. I mean, if the retrial goes well and he gets out, I’ll have to see him anyway.”

“Have you been reading the _Prophet_ lately?”

“No. Why, was there something about my parents?”

“Well, they’ve managed to get a little out of Dolohov. A lot of the information is secret, but it seems that Nott—the older one—is taking the lead on the new Death Eater movement.”

“What are they trying to do, exactly?” Draco turned on his side to face Harry, noticing and loving how close they were. 

Harry bit his lip. “They’re trying to bring Voldemort back. At least, that’s what Kingsley tells me.” Draco couldn’t believe Harry was on a first name basis with the Minister of Magic—actually, it made sense. He shuddered at the prospect of the Dark Lord coming back. “They suspect that Nott has a Time-Turner.”

“Merlin,” Draco sighed. “And my parents knew about it?”

Harry shrugged. “I guess that’s what they’re trying to find out. They must have something to do with it though, if Dolohov tried to kidnap you to get to them.”

Draco scoffed. “I’m not sure they would have cared. Well, my mom would have. I wouldn’t want her to, though.”

“I understand,” Harry said. “When I was going from the Dursley’s to the Weasley’s last summer, everyone actually disguised themselves as me in order to confuse the Death Eaters. I hated the idea of it though. I hated the thought that anyone might die for me.”

Draco wanted to hold his hand, wanted to brush his hair away from his forehead that was red from Harry rubbing it so much. “They would have done whatever was necessary to win the war, I think. Not that they didn’t care about you, of course they did, but I don’t think anyone who died did so for you, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, it does. That’s a lot of what my Mind Healer and I have been talking about.” Harry lay back down and glanced at Draco. “How’s that going for you, by the way?”

Truthfully, seeing Mind Healer Christine was starting to get more and more difficult. Draco had delved into some of the less horrifying events of the past year—generally what it was like to have the Dark Lord in his house, what it was like at Hogwarts, etc. However, they were running out of easy material. Christine had pushed him more and more each session to be further in touch with his emotions and trauma, but Draco wasn’t sure he was ready. Draco explained this to Harry, who listened compassionately.

“I definitely understand how you feel. There are things that I still haven’t talked about with my Mind Healer, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. Hermione is always pushing me to talk about things, which is fine if it works for her, but I’m not sure it works for me. Keep trying, though. I’ve been surprised about how much it has helped sometimes to get things off my chest.”

Draco kept this in mind as he prepared for his next Mind Healer appointment the following Monday, the application still taunting him on his desk. Draco sat down in Christine’s office with a sigh.

“Are you alright, Draco?” She asked kindly. 

“There...there is something I want to talk to you about,” Draco said for maybe the first time in his life, fidgeting in his seat. 

Christine looked thrilled and leaned forward excitedly, probably thinking this would be some sort of breakthrough. “Of course! What is it?”

“I have this application to see my parents before their retrial. I know I want to see my mother, but...I’m not sure I want to see my father.”

“I know that last time seeing him was very difficult for you. Have you heard if he’s improved at all, health-wise?”

“No, I haven’t. I feel cowardly, not wanting to face him.” Christine raised her eyebrows. “I feel like some of what he says is true. And I’m his son, it would be weird not to see him.”

“You being his son doesn’t mean that you need to take everything he throws at you. You’re allowed to protect yourself.”  
  
“That’s what I spent the last year doing. I protected myself at the expense of others.”

“I think you’re being quite hard on yourself, Draco. What would seeing your father do for you? And what would it do for him? If he really is as unwell as it seems, seeing you may not be good for his mental health either.”

“It’ll just make it worse when he gets out, though. If he gets out, I guess.”

“Well, I can’t make your decision for you. All I can ask you to do is be kind to yourself. You’ve been so good about trying to be kinder to others—I think that you could do with that change as well.”

Draco went back to Hogwarts and immediately sent the application back to Mr. Burke, with only his mother’s name on it. 

  
The eighth years sat gathered in the common space one late October night. It was only about a week until Halloween, and it was storming outside. Draco assumed everyone else felt cozy next to the fire, but it made him more nervous than the lightning outside. He was sitting by his friends, but Harry wasn’t far away. Draco kept looking at him, wondering what he was thinking and how he was doing. It was getting harder and harder to only speak to him at night—Draco found himself waiting all day to hear Harry’s voice. Harry met his gaze and gave a small smile. Draco returned it and turned away. _He probably doesn’t want to be associated with you._

“Alright everyone,” Granger got everyone’s attention. “Today we’re going to do something different. I know we’ve been making some progress with the memorial preparation, but Professor McGonagall wants us also to be making progress with each other.”

“Did you guys know that everyone here always sits in the same seats in the Great Hall? The other houses intermingle sometimes, but we don’t,” Longbottom continued. “We need to set the example here. We need to start spending more time together.”

Everyone either groaned or looked uncomfortable. “So tonight,” Granger seemed to be bracing herself for backlash. “We’re going to share one story about something that happened to us in the past year. And that’s how we’re going to start every meeting until the end of the term.”

Blaise scoffed next to Draco. “I can’t wait to tell everyone exactly what I ate for breakfast every day last year, because that’s all I’m sharing.” Draco laughed.

“I’ll start,” Granger said. Draco felt lightheaded. _Please don’t mention when you were at the Manor..._ “Harry and I were on a mission in Godric’s Hollow.” Draco let out a sigh, feeling extremely relieved. _But how long will it be until she does and everyone hates you even more?_ Granger went on to tell a story about fighting Nagini, who was disguised as Bathilda Bagshot. It was not too terribly depressing, but highly interesting, and by the end she had people clapping as she described their getaway. “Who wants to go next?”

“I’ll go next,” Dean Thomas spoke up, already glaring at Draco. “I was on the run for most of last year, traveling with various people who would get killed by the Snatchers. I got caught and was imprisoned at Malfoy Manor because I’m a Muggleborn. Malfoy over there was present for some of it, and he didn’t do a thing.” Draco didn’t want to move a muscle—he felt as though he were surrounded by angry werewolves.

“I appreciate you sharing your story, Dean, but Professor McGonagall wants us to focus on ourselves when we tell people things.” Neville looked uncomfortable but firm.

“That’s a great point, Neville. I would love to hear his side of things. Tell me, Malfoy, what were you doing while students were screaming in your family’s dungeon?”

“That’s enough,” Harry said in an angry tone of which Draco had been on the receiving end a few times. 

Hermione glanced at Draco, who swallowed. He was feeling sick and on the verge of an anxiety attack. He was focusing on breathing in and out like Christine told him to, drawing circles on the floor with his pointer finger as he did so. “Would you like to share something that happened to you, Malfoy?” 

Draco looked up and met Harry’s eyes, who smiled encouragingly. 

“Well.” He started, and sighed. He could do this. Maybe it would make things better, sharing a bit. “I’m sure you all have noticed that I tend to have...flashbacks, I think they’re called.” Granger nodded knowingly. “I know that I wasn’t...in danger in the same way that you all were. I know that. But I wasn’t out of danger either—“

“You privileged prick!” Justin Finch-Fletchley shouted. “Of course you were out of danger, your family was close to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!”

“Be quiet, let him talk,” Hermione chastised gently.

Draco walked through his memories, wondering what he could share with everyone that would show them he didn’t have the best year either, that would demonstrate that he had been on the receiving end of the Dark Lord’s wrath, too. The only one he could think of was...but he couldn’t handle that. _Just say it as a fact. Say it like it didn’t happen to you_. “I got my tongue cut out,” he mumbled, clenching his fist.

“What was that?” Longbottom asked.

“I—the Dark Lord cut my tongue out for a week. For something.” _It’s just something that happened to someone else, but not to you. Don’t think about how it may have happened to that person. It didn’t happen to you, that’s all you need to remember._ But the lies Draco was telling himself weren’t working. He started to shake all over. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I just—I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry to everyone. I know I was a prick to Muggleborns, I know I let the Death Eaters into the castle, I know I tortured people, and I know that nothing I say will ever make up for it, but I’m sorry anyway.” He looked at everyone’s stony faces. _They’ll never forgive me._ “I need some air.” 

Without looking at anyone’s reactions, he left the common area and went to a place he knew very well—the place where Moaning Myrtle still howled throughout the day. 

The bathroom had been fixed, but was still abandoned due to Myrtle and the bad things that had occurred there. Draco had used it as a hideout sometimes in seventh year, and welcomed the familiar surroundings. He sank to the floor, trying not to vomit, and held his head in his hands.

“Draco? You’re back!” Myrtle came swooping down, sending cold air through the already shaking Draco. “And crying again. What’s wrong now?”

“I—I just don’t know why I bother, no one is ever going to forgive me for anything. I don’t deserve for anyone to forgive me, I—“

“It’s okay,” Myrtle cooed. “I know some of the things you’ve done and I forgive you.”

“Why?”

“Because it seemed to me like you’re always awfully upset about it. When someone does a bad thing and they aren’t upset about it, that’s when they don’t deserve forgiveness. Like the boy who killed me.” Suddenly the door slammed open and with a squeal Myrtle returned to her toilet.

Harry Potter gave Draco a wry smile as he looked at their surroundings. “I promise not to slice you open if you promise not to attempt to torture me.”

Draco gave a dry laugh. “Deal.”

Harry sat down next to Draco, their legs touching. Draco felt sparks throughout his body. “That was really brave of you.”

“No it wasn’t,” Draco scoffed. “I told them about it so that they’d stop looking at me like I was a criminal. There’s nothing brave about that, it’s selfish.”

Harry thought for a moment. “I guess it’s both. You cared about yourself that much to tell everyone something that was very difficult for you. That’s at least a type of bravery.”

“I’m not convinced,” Draco stood up and went to the sink, splashing water on his red face. 

“Well, I am the Chosen One, so you should probably listen to me.” 

That got a genuine laugh out of Draco. “Prick,” he said. 

Harry was silent for a moment, and then looked at Draco with a serious gaze. “Do you remember the night that you came to see me when you were sick?”

“Vaguely. But I definitely remember the next morning. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Harry said, but Draco could definitely tell that something was on his mind. “Hey, do you think next week you’d be willing to go somewhere with me?”

Draco smiled, excited at the prospect of spending time with Harry. “Of course!”

“Mind you, it’s not pleasant. I just can’t do it alone.”

“Whatever you need,” Draco said, grabbing Harry’s hand for emphasis. “I’ll be there for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so excited for you guys to read the last two chapters of this part! I don’t have them written yet but I know what’s going to happen. I know that you guys wanted the other students to realize more what Draco went through, so I decided to have him do a little confession. How do you think they’ll treat him now? What do you hope to see in the next part of the series? 
> 
> Love to all! Next chapter should be sometime early next week.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds out exactly what Harry has in store for him.

**Chapter 24**

Draco had wondered what would happen after his confession that his tongue had been cut out sometime during the war. He spent the next few days avoiding the rest of the eighth-years, both afraid that they would think his memory insufficient for giving him a break and afraid that they would pity him. He didn’t want sympathy or concern from the other students, because he had truly done despicable things that he needed to answer for. He just wanted an understanding, an acknowledgement that though he had certain privileges, he also had disadvantages, and didn’t enjoy himself over the past year.

Despite his attempt to avoid the eighth-years, they seemed to specifically try and seek him out. It appeared that there were two camps of thought. Those close to Harry were the kindest and most open, as evidenced by when Longbottom approached Draco at the Great Hall:

“Malfoy, I wanted to say that I really respect what you said the other day. I’m not sure I can forgive you fully, but I accept your apology. I know that it was real, and I know you’ve tried hard to change this year.” Longbottom extended a hand, which Draco took hesitantly but with a firm grip, like Lucius had always taught him.

The second group of individuals were not as close to Harry and thought that Draco was just making up getting his tongue cut out to try and win sympathy. They were particularly suspicious of what Draco was doing with Harry Potter.

One afternoon Draco was walking back from class when he was confronted by Justin Finch-Fletcher, Ernest Macmillan, and Dean Thomas. Draco’s heart leapt to his throat, as the manacle on his arm left him defenseless in the hallways.

“Whatever you’re trying to do with Potter, Malfoy, it needs to stop,” Thomas began.

“Your sympathy ploy isn’t working on us. Even if you’re not a liar about your tongue, you probably deserved it. It’s nothing compared to what my family suffered,” Finch-Fletchley continued.

“First of all, I’m not trying to do anything with Potter, and our interactions are none of your business,” Draco found some of his old courage and haughtiness deep inside. “Second, I told the truth not for sympathy, but because I wanted you guys to know that I wasn’t off just having a grand old time when the Dark Lord was in power! Now move.” Draco didn’t want to give them any time or chance to attack him, so he roughly shouldered through Ernest and Justin. Thankfully they didn’t follow him.

Draco’s friends were concerned later when Draco told them about the confrontation. “What did we tell you about walking to and from classes alone? It’s not safe,” Daphne had protested.

“What am I supposed to do, have you guys surround me like guards? No, I’ll take whatever comes to me.”

And though there hadn’t been an incident like when the Ravenclaw boy had cut him in a while, Draco had a lot of mild burns, cuts, and bruises from when students randomly jinxed him in the hallways. One night Harry noticed a rather nasty burn on Draco’s upper arm as they were lying in bed together. He traced it sadly, watching Draco to see if he would wince. 

“Don’t look so glum, it doesn’t hurt,” Draco lied.

“That’s it. I’m talking to Kingsley. You have to be able to defend yourself, at least in the hallways, or it’s just going to get worse and worse.”

“Are you kidding me? If you talk to Kingsley, that’s when it’ll get worse. Especially with my parents’ retrial coming up. Trust me, it’s fine.”

“I don’t care. I can’t control how many Death Eaters are still out there, I can’t control how many people have nerve damage from the Cruciatus curse, but this? This I can control. And so I will.”

“What’s got you all in a huff lately? I feel like you haven’t been yourself for the past week.” 

“Nothing. Well, I guess it’s not nothing. You’ll find out on Halloween.” Harry turned over and went to sleep. All he had told Draco was that he would be accompanying Harry somewhere on Halloween, but hadn’t provided any other details, including how they would leave the castle. 

Draco wanted to solve that particular mystery, but he had other concerns. A few days before the 31st, it was finally time for Draco to go back to Azkaban to visit his mother. Yarney came to retrieve him as he did before, but this time Draco felt less ill and better prepared. He also was incredibly relieved that he would not be seeing his father today, despite Mr. Burke’s scorn at Draco’s refusal to talk with Lucius. 

“He’s doing worse, Draco. I don’t know how much longer he has, and his only son is refusing to see him.” Mr. Burke shook his head sadly.

Draco thought of Harry and stood by his word. “With all due respect, Mr. Burke, I’m not going to sit for ten minutes and be berated for no reason. My father in his right mind wouldn’t want that.”

Draco was more and more relived of the decision he had made as he walked blindfolded into the gloomy prison. He already felt heavier, the thoughts of self-doubt in his mind growing. And that was with the Patronus close at hand—how could his mother stand this?

He waited in the same damp room for a few moments, and then Yarney led his mother to Draco in chains. She looked quite a bit worse than the last time Draco was here. Her eyes were sunken into her pale face, and her features looked so pointy that her face had lost most of its renowned beauty. But she still had a spark in her eyes—she was still his mother. He wanted to hug her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

“Mother,” was all he could say, his voice breaking with emotion.

“Oh, Dragon,” she sat down gingerly, as if the motion hurt her. “How are you? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Mother. I’m safe and well.”

Narcissa tried her hardest to smile, but it wavered under the weight of the tears falling down her cheeks. After a few more pleasantries, her voice turned serious. “Dragon. I’ve heard things from the guards who read the _Prophet_. You aren’t doing anything rash to try and help your father and I, are you?”

_Oh Merlin. So they know I’m spending time with Harry._ “No Mother, of course not. I mean—of course I want to help you in any way I can, but I know that the best way to do that is to stay out of trouble. So I have been.”

“I appreciate that, sweetheart. But why were you and Mr. Potter at Hogsmeade together? You shouldn’t be at Hogsmeade at all, you should be staying inside whenever possible.”

“We’re just friends, Mother. I just wanted to get out for some air. That’s all.”

“Well you could jeopardize your life doing that, not to mention ours!” Narcissa rarely raised her voice with Draco, and he cowered a little. She seemed to realize that she had become angry, and morphed her expression back into one that Draco could more easily recognize. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m not upset with you. It’s just a stressful situation, that’s all. You’re—you’re all the Malfoys have left. I know that’s a lot of pressure, but it’s true. Even if your father and I make it through our retrial, we’re going to be social outcasts. You’re the only hope this family has.”

“Time’s up,” Yarney said. It felt like much less than last time.

Narcissa turned to Draco, eyes shining with more tears. “Please, my love, tell Lucius that I love him. Tell him to be strong for me, okay?” 

Draco didn’t have the heart to tell Narcissa that he chose not to see Lucius, so he just nodded and watched as his mother was led away. Draco wanted her so badly to not be sentenced to life in prison. He wanted his mother back. But if they were both freed, he couldn’t imagine the wrath from Lucius that would await him...

  
“Are you ready?” Harry asked, holding some sort of a blanket in his hand. It was Halloween night, and finally Draco would be finding out what Harry needed him for so badly.

“I suppose, but you haven’t really told me what I should be ready for.”

Harry ignored his quip. “Here, we’re both going to get under this. I hope your shoes are good, we’ve got a long walk ahead of us. Move closer to me.”

Draco stared oddly at Harry, but the latter seemed too agitated for Draco to argue. Once he was sufficiently close to Harry, the young man pulled the blanket around both of them, covering their whole bodies. Draco could still see through the fabric, but the world shimmered a bit. “Is this an Invisibility Cloak?”

“Great guess,” Harry said wryly. “Yes, we’re going to be using it to get out of Hogwarts.”

Draco’s heart clenched. How could he face his mother a few days ago and assure her that he would stay out of trouble, yet at the same time escape Hogwarts using an Invisibility Cloak with the Boy Who Lived? 

It seemed that Harry could read his mind, because he looked at Draco with affection as they made their way down the halls. “I know you’re risking a lot by doing this with me, and I really appreciate it. I hope I get to make it up to you somehow.”

“You’ve saved my life, Potter,” Draco used Harry’s last name good-naturedly. “That about does it forever.”

The two walked mostly in silence for a few miles, even passing Hogsmeade. “Why can’t we just Apparate there?” Draco whined.

“I don’t know the exact parameters of that,” Harry said, gesturing to Draco’s manacle. “I don’t want to set off any alarm bells at the Ministry. We’re not too far away.”

Finally they came upon a little village Draco knew as Godric’s Hollow. Draco suddenly felt enormously stupid. _Halloween, Godric’s Hollow...of course. It’s the anniversary of his parents’ death_. Draco was incredibly nervous and felt very unprepared to comfort Harry. What did he know about death? Sure, his grandparents died, but that was supposed to happen. He had certainly seen death over the past year, but no one he cared much about except for Vincent. What would Harry expect him to do?

Harry took a pause before entering the village, as though preparing himself for the emotions that would lie ahead. Draco followed him into a cemetery after Harry removed the Invisibility Cloak. They came to a stop at James and Lily Potter’s headstones. Harry stood there in silence for a few moments, and Draco was unsure of what he should do.

“Do—do you remember them at all?”

Harry looked startled, as though he had forgotten Draco was there. “Bits and pieces, I think. I remember riding on my first broomstick. I remember feelings sort of, like feeling loved and safe. But nothing too specific.” He sighed and tripped a little, as though the weight of the emotions was too much for him to stand upright. “That’s what I hate the most, I think. I want to remember something else about them, something more than just stories I’ve heard. I want to know what they liked to do, who cooked the most, who was in charge of which chores, what their favorite type of music was. Everyone tells me about their heroic acts, but I want to know the mundane things. I don’t want to learn more about James and Lily Potter, the war heroes. I want to learn about my parents.” Tears slipped down Harry’s face.

Draco nodded and turned back to the tombstones. There were already flowers there, and messages of support. What more could he offer? Then all of a sudden, a memory came to him. He cleared his throat. “Your father was terrible at Potions, I think.”

Harry tore his gaze away from his parents’ carved names. “How do you know that?”

“Professor Snape told me. So I imagine he didn’t do the cooking.”

This surprisingly brought a smile to Harry’s face. “Did he tell you anything else?”

And so the two boys chatted as they walked around the village, looking in the shops, and avoiding the Potter’s house ahead. Draco told Harry everything he could remember Professor Snape telling him about his Hogwarts bully—though he didn’t mention to Harry that was how Snape qualified James Potter. Finally, there was nothing to see except the house turned memorial.

The home had certainly seen better days, and was not being touched at all, apparently not even for preservation purposes. The window panes were shattered and the door was slightly off its hinges. Draco shuddered at the sight, almost feeling the Dark Lord’s presence.

Harry stopped a few feet from the front door. “Have you ever been inside?” Draco asked.

Harry shook his head. He looked nearly as pale as Draco always did, the brave young man clearly afraid. _It’s just a house. This is one thing I can do for him_. Taking out his wand, mostly for show, Draco stepped carefully inside the Potters’ home .

Draco wasn’t sure what he expected to see—of course James and Lily Potter’s bodies weren’t here. He wasn’t expecting everything to be so...normal. There were dishes in the sink, turned permanently brown from no one washing them. There was an empty cat food bowl in the corner. Everything was covered with a fine layer of dust, but other than that, it looked like someone could be living here. 

Draco stood in the center of the living room for a moment, expecting to feel something more than the deep ache inside of him. Finally he walked outside and faced Harry.

“What’s it like?” Harry asked, looking so incredibly young.

“It’s...it’s normal, honestly. Of course there’s dust around and everything is old, but it’s not scary.” Draco didn’t want to pressure Harry, but his tone lightly suggested that Harry should go in.

Harry nodded. “Not...yet. But maybe. Thank you, for doing that. I always wondered...”

“Of course,” Draco said after a moment. “And...thank you for inviting me here. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

“I just wanted someone to go with me who wouldn’t try and comfort me the whole time. As great as Ron and Hermione are, I knew you would just...let me be.”

“I’m not sure there’s any comfort from this.”

“There isn’t. But it doesn’t mean that there can’t be happiness.” Harry looked at Draco and smiled. Draco felt like the whole of the war-torn village of Godric’s Hollow lit up in tandem with the expression on Harry’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more left in this series!!! I’ll be sad to see this part go, but I’m also drowning in final exams. The chapter should be out by Friday, and then that’ll be it until January 1st! 
> 
> What do you think is going to happen? What do you want to see in the next installment? Love you guys!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Occlumency lesson leads to a disturbing realization, and a forced confrontation of feelings.

**Chapter 25**

Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy’s retrial had been rescheduled to November 6th, so Draco had about a week to try and figure out how he could best help. Mr. Burke had assured him that he would be allowed to attend and would likely be called as a witness. Draco was glad that if Lucius had been involved with the elder Nott’s efforts to resurrect the Dark Lord, he had never shared any of his plans with Draco. Draco could confidently walk into the retrial knowing that knew absolutely nothing. 

However, this plan was derailed when he received a mysterious letter one early November morning. This was not unusual, but after the fiasco with the black liquid, Draco no longer opened letters that came from owls or had handwriting he didn’t recognize. As his friends and himself were sitting at the Great Hall, they were shocked by the owl that swooped down in front of them, cooing softly and dropping an envelope onto Draco’s plate.

“Isn’t that...Theo’s owl?” Greg said quietly, as though he was afraid to even say Theodore Nott’s name too loudly. It had been published in the _Prophet_ that even the younger Nott was wanted for questioning, and anyone who had an inkling of his whereabouts needed to report to the Ministry.

“It is. Don’t open it, Draco,” Blaise warned. “Nothing good can come of it. Your parents’ retrial is in days for crying out loud, and they’re definitely going to ask you if you’ve had contact with Theo.”

“Blaise is right. I think you should tell Mr. Burke right away, or even an Auror. Turn this letter in without opening it. It’ll make you look good,” Daphne added.

Draco stared at his name in Theo’s handwriting and sighed. His friends made good points. But he and Theo had always been friendly—what if he was in trouble? Also, Draco knew that Theo was aware Draco was up to something sixth year, and Theo never said anything. Didn’t Draco owe the same to him? Maybe he was in a hard spot with his parents just like Draco had been. 

Reaching an internal compromise with himself, Draco gave the letter to Greg, the only one who looked skeptical at the prospect of Draco handing it over to the Ministry. “Burn it.”

Greg nodded, to Blaise and Daphne’s displeasure, and set the letter on fire. Draco felt a little ill. He was wondering if Theo truly did want to bring back the Dark Lord, or if the younger Nott was experiencing the kind of anxiety that Draco had for the past two years. 

He tried to push it out of his head over the next few days. He and Harry were continuing with their lessons, both making some progress but Harry shining far brighter than Draco. Harry seemed extra focused after his visit to his parents’ grave, which had actually brightened his mood considerably, but Draco’s mind couldn’t be stilled. 

“Hmm...show me your first kiss.”

“It was extremely awkward, Draco. I’m sure you don’t want to see that.” 

“Well, I’m not going to. The next step of Occlumency is learning how to alter your own memories as you’re showing them. It’s similar to how people can alter their memories when they take them out to be put into a Pensive. You can change whatever you hated so much about that kiss.” Draco gave Harry a moment to think, and when he nodded, Draco began looking at Harry’s memory.

Surprisingly, Draco had to suppress strong feelings of jealousy as he watched Harry gaze into Cho Chang’s eyes. She was crying about Cedric Diggory, and Harry appeared so moved by her grief that he leaned in to kiss her. Since his eyes were closed so early, they bumped noses a bit. Then the memory became hazy as Draco felt Harry try and alter it. Cho Chang’s dark black hair turned blonde, and her figure shrank in volume but stretched in size as her body became a man’s...

Suddenly the memory was over, and Draco found himself back in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, facing Harry. Harry was red in the face and looked mortified, and Draco wondered if he had almost turned Cho Chang into...him. 

Draco cleared his throat and turned around, trying to give Harry space to recover and also thinking about his next move. He tried to keep his voice even when he spoke, though it quavered with emotion. “That was pretty good—I mean, I could tell you were trying to alter it. I think we should try a different memory next time, though, something that may be easier for you to change.”

“Yeah,” Harry choked out. “Thanks, Draco. I’ll see you later.” Draco heard Harry’s footsteps as he left the classroom.

Draco was left standing alone and feeling horrified. Did he do something wrong? Did he ruin one of the only things that he lived for? Maybe he was overthinking things, maybe the elusive figure in Potter’s altered consciousness wasn’t him. That had to be it—Draco was thinking too much about himself again. He decided to consult his friends at lunch.

“Oh my goodness!” Daphne squealed. “He likes you! Oh, Draco, you _have_ to ask him out!” 

“What? No, of course not.” Draco’s heart leapt into his throat at the thought.

“Why not?” Greg asked, still nonchalantly eating his meal.

“That’s—that’s not why I’m telling you guys! I’m telling you because either I’m overthinking this and something else is wrong, or I messed up and I need to fix it. I want to keep being his friend.”

“You didn’t mess up anything, Draco. It’s his fault that the memory turned that way, not yours,” Blaise chimed in.

“Yeah but...I don’t know, maybe we’ve just been getting too close. Maybe I need to take a step back and let him breathe.”

“You guys barely talk. How could you possibly be getting too close?” With Greg’s question, Draco forgot that the group didn’t know they slept in the same bed every night and whispered until morning. 

“I don’t know. Forget it,” Draco said, feeling quite angry and showing it. 

“No, we didn’t mean to upset you,” Daphne put a hand on his arm before he could get up. “In all seriousness, I think you should just pretend like nothing happened. I’m sure it’s not as big of a deal as you think it is.”

Unfortunately, Daphne was wrong. When Draco returned from the library late that night after working on some homework, he found his bed unoccupied, but Harry sleeping in his own for the first time in weeks. Draco thought his heart was going to shatter right then and there. He wasn’t sure what he did, but he somehow messed up, and now his means of getting through his horrible nightmares was gone. He fell asleep as best as he could without a comforting presence beside him.

“_Are you looking forward to Hogwarts?” Lucius had paused in the doorway of Draco’s suite as his young son packed for the tenth time. _

_ “Yes, Father! It’ll be just like the Academy, except bigger!” Draco was used to his small primary school with the other pureblood children where they were educated in different languages and other non-magical subjects. But he was incredibly excited to finally see the big Hogwarts castle in person for the first time. _

_ “You’re at a large advantage, Draco. You already know quite a few of the people who will end up in Slytherin, so you’ve done a good job making connections. But there is someone who will likely end up in Slytherin that you need to befriend right away.”_

_ “I know sir; Harry Potter.”_

_ “Yes. This is vital.” Lucius sat on Draco’s bed, Draco looking up at his powerful father admirably. “It is possible that Harry Potter is more important to the Wizarding World than we ever thought. He has been raised by Muggles for eleven years, so he is no doubt ready to step fully into his identity as a wizard. It’s up to you to help him do that. Make him feel welcome, even invite him over for the holidays.”_

“_Yes, Father. I’ll do whatever I can.”_

_ “Good boy. You want to make me proud, don’t you?”_

_ Draco’s eyes widened. “Of course, Father,” he said. That was all he ever wanted. _

_Once Draco had met Harry while getting fitted for his robes, he knew for certain that Harry would be an integral part of his life. He tried to find the boy on the train, but couldn’t, and settled for sitting with his familiar friends. Unfortunately, it turns out that Potter had been trapped with a blood traitor for the entirety of the train ride. Draco felt sorry for Potter, sure that he had been miserable for hours. “I can rescue him,” Draco thought._

_ Later, Draco extended his hand to Harry, and Harry looked at it with disdain. No one had ever looked at Draco like that before, like he was a lesser person. That was how Malfoys looked at others, not how Malfoys were looked at. As he watched Harry walk away with Weasley, two Gryffindors getting along happily, it settled upon Draco just how drastically he had failed. What would he tell his father?_

_So Draco avoided writing home, even though he knew that his mother would be waiting by the window for news every day. Finally a letter came from his parents, with a specific question of whether or not Draco had befriended Harry Potter. Draco’s only choice appeared to assure his father that Harry wasn’t worth befriending, that he wasn’t the next great wizard his father suggested he may be. So he wrote a long letter back, complaining about nearly everything he had seen Harry Potter do. He channeled his frustrations with himself into Potter, making him into an enemy with each word written on the page._

_ Draco received a short letter back:_

_ “Son,_

_ I have to say, I am disappointed, both in you and in the situation. Nothing is permanent—it was certainly possible for you to lead Mr. Potter away from that Weasley and into a better path. However, you failed to do so. You must not quit tasks just because they become difficult. I thought I taught you better than that, but apparently I was wrong. I hope that you will put more effort into making valuable connections while at school rather than wasting the opportunity of_ _Hogwarts with schoolboy arguments._

_ I hope to enjoy your next letter more.”_

_Draco read that letter with shaking hands, tears streaming down his face. Stupid Potter ruined everything for him. He vowed that as long as they both were at Hogwarts, he would make his life hell._

Draco didn’t scream as he woke up from that dream, which wasn’t quite a nightmare but was drifting ever close to being one. His pillow was wet from tears that he had shed as an eleven year old. He sat up at looked at the clock: it was a quarter past three. Harry was sleeping soundly in his own bed, while Draco’s was cold on one side. 

How could Harry do this? How could he befriend him, make Draco trust him, and then just stop participating in a significant ritual for him with no prior warning? Draco felt like this was the rejected handshake ten times over. Another part of Draco wasn’t mad but resigned. _You knew this would happen eventually. Of course he would realize that he didn’t want to spend time with you. Of course he would realize that you’re not the “right sort.” You’ll never be._

Draco felt restless and helpless. He decided to go out into the common room and get a cup of tea. He flung his covers aside and closed the bedroom door behind him, not bothering to be soft so as not to wake Harry. _I hope he does wake up. I hope he sees my empty bed and worries about me._ Draco slammed the kitchen cupboards open in rage, looking for sugar and tea.

“Do you have to make so much noise?” He should know better than to assume he would be alone in the night, but Granger startled him anyway.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly. Hermione Granger was curled up in an armchair, surrounded by books. 

“Are you alright?” Granger asked.

“I’m fine. It’s Potter that you should be worried about.” The last sentence just sort of slipped out, and it even caught Draco by surprise that he was confiding in Granger.

“I knew something happened today. Did you get mad at him about something?”

“What? No, he got mad at me. We were doing lessons in Defense Against the Dark Arts and he just stormed off. Didn’t even...he didn’t even talk to me tonight.”

Granger furrowed her eyebrows. “That’s not what I heard. He was actually telling me that he felt like a burden to you, that he should probably give you more space.”

“What?” Draco said again, very confused. _How could Harry ever think that he’s a burden to me? He’s the happiest part of my days_. “He’d never be a burden to me. Not ever.”

Granger sighed. “I think you two should have a conversation on where you stand.”

“I think we know well enough where we stand, we’re roommates and...friends? I guess?”

Granger looked at Draco knowingly. “He likes you, don’t you know that?”

Draco scoffed. “Don’t be stupid. He’s never given any indication that he likes me.”

“That’s because he doesn’t know if you like him! Fevered confessions of love aren’t the same thing as sitting down with someone with your entire mental faculties intact and telling them how you feel.” Draco wasn’t sure what Granger was saying about fevered confessions of love, but she had a point. Maybe he should tell Potter how he felt. What’s the worst that could happen? “My point is,” Granger continued. “He’s not going to talk to you about it, regardless of how many hints you drop. He’s clueless. So it’s up to you.”

Draco’s heart clenched at those words. _It’s up to you_. He had never before been in complete control over a decision. Most of his life had been ruled by his father, or the Dark Lord, or the expectations that come with being a Malfoy. But this? Granger was right. This was all him. Suddenly, Draco didn’t feel that he could wait a moment longer to tell Harry how he felt. He abandoned his half-made cup of tea, and stopped to thank Granger over his shoulder. She was smiling.

Draco quietly crept in the room, watching Harry sleep for a moment. He looked a little troubled without Draco by his side, but still beautiful. Draco saw flashes of what their lives could be if they were together. Sure, there would be enormous consequences. The _Prophet_ would have a field day, Draco would be accused of dating the Boy Who Lived for the wrong reasons, Draco’s father would be enraged, his family reputation would either be much improved or get much worse—but none of that mattered right now. All Draco wanted to do was crawl in bed beside his crush.

“Harry? Harry, wake up,” Draco rubbed his shoulder lightly.

“Wha? Wha’s wrong?” Harry said groggily while turning on the lamp with a flick of his wand and putting on his glasses.

“That memory you were altering today. Were you trying to alter it into being me?”

Harry looked down as his face flushed red. “I’m so sorry, Draco, I know that you probably don’t want to be involved with me like that and I wanted to give you some space—“

“Shut up, Potter. I like you. I really, really do. I want to be with you. I want to go to Hogsmeade with you and hold your hand. I want to know every part of you, all your likes and dislikes and all your flaws. I want to go to sleep with you next to me every night. I want to tell you everything about myself. I want to spend as much time with you as I can, because I enjoy you that much.” Draco paused only to take a breath, and extend his hand. “Harry, will you go on a date with me?”

Harry looked at Draco’s hand curiously, took it, and said “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re done with this part of the series! I NEVER thought I would make it this far, so thank you all for reading it. The next series will start January 1, 2020, and we’ll take it as far as we can! Let me know if there’s anything you want to see. I hope you all have happy holidays, and make sure to look out for the next part. Love to all! I can’t thank you enough for coming on this journey with me.

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfiction! Let me know what you think


End file.
